


I Am Stretched on Your Grave

by SidheMail



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidheMail/pseuds/SidheMail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am stretched on your grave, and will lie there forever/If your hands were in mine, I'd be sure we'd not sever/My apple tree, my brightness, it's time we were together/For I smell of the earth, and am slain by the weather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mourning After

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Into the Dark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/460681) by [murdur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdur/pseuds/murdur). 



> Hello! This is my first time posting ever, and I am terrified. Please note that my knowledge of the comics, Norse mythology, and of anything else useful, is severely limited. And none of this would ever have happened had it not been for Into The Dark by Murdur. I fear that where Murdur is a hawk upon the wing, I am a penguin waddling across a shag carpet, but what can ya do?  
> I hope you enjoy!

I Am Stretched On Your Grave

 

“I don't want you to burn my things,” Sif said.

Loki thought about that for a moment. “I think that you have me confused with someone else. I have borrowed many of your things and failed to return them, and I have caused a few to vanish or turn into frogs, but I have never set any of your belongings on fire.”

She elbowed him, but did not raise her head from where it rested on his shoulder. “That is not what I meant.”

They sat together on the beach, just a few feet from where the surf curled over the sand. Twilight was falling, the golds and purples of the sky flowing into the waves. The first few stars were beginning to twinkle, just out of the reach of the last fading rays of sunlight.

“Then whatever do you mean, my lady?”

“I mean upon my funeral pyre.”

Loki's arm was snugged around Sif's waist, and without even thinking he pulled her a little closer. “What makes you think of such things now?”

He felt her shrug. “I don't know. Don't you ever think about your funeral?”

“Not usually, no.” He never thought of his own pyre. Sometimes he thought about the funerals of others, usually with regard to Sif or Thor. These were not thoughts that he enjoyed. 

“Well, should anyone ever ask, I do not want my things wasted after I'm gone. They should go to someone else who can use them. You'll tell whoever is in charge of such things, won't you?”

Once Loki had heard of a sculptor who had been asked how he created his masterpieces. The sculptor shrugged, and replied, I take a block of marble and I cut away everything that is not the statue. The art of being Liesmith and Silvertongue was much the same. You simply had to take a block of thought and cut away everything that did not conform to the image you wanted the world to see.

Your heart is my heart, he wanted to say. You will have to find someone else to see to your last wishes, for when you speak of your death, you speak of mine. 

“Very well,, if that is your wish,” he said lightly. “Shall we go inside? It is nearly time for supper.”

It was that casual conversation that had led him to this moment. He stood on the shore not far from where he had sat that day, with Sif by his side. Now he stood among the entire court of Asgard, watching a nearly empty dragon-headed ship drift over the waves.

They had argued with him, of course. His father's steward had stared at him in abject horror when he had first brought it up. 

“But ... my Prince, surely such a thing would bring dishonor to the Lady Sif's spirit. Her soul might even become … unquiet.” 

Loki could not help but grit his teeth when he replied. “If she returns as a drauger I will lay her myself.”

The steward blanched. “What made you think that this was her wish?”

She told me, for who but your lover would you trust with your last wishes? Of course, if he said that, the officious little man would be certain that this was was just another malicious trick. He looked the steward in the eye, and said what would get him the results he desired.

“She told my brother of her wishes. You may ask him yourself, if you prefer to hear it from his own lips.”

That was a gamble. Thor knew nothing about it, and they had not had a chance to speak since Thor and the Warriors Three had come back over the Bifrost, leading Sif's riderless horse.

“Oh! Why did you not say so?” The steward relaxed visibly, and patted the sweat from his balding head with a linen handkerchief. “It is unusual, to be sure, but we shall do what she wished.”

So now they were all gathered before a ship that held nothing but a rusted suit of armor and a broken sword. It didn't even hold her body. She had fallen into a pit, deep beneath a frozen mountain.

Loki shivered, and pulled his cloak closer around him. How strange, he was so seldom cold. I must have caught a chill, he thought. That was surely why he felt so weak, so utterly drained of energy. 

He glanced Thor's direction. Thor was staring out to sea, tears streaming down his cheeks as the wind blew back his shining hair. Loki could not help but smile. Of course Thor cried prettily, without a scrunched face or a red nose. He was the golden god, after all.

He could see his brother well, though they stood on opposite sides of the cove. As they had walked in procession from the the city, he had tried to keep pace with Thor. He had wished to stand beside him as the ship took to the waves.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be what everyone else wanted, as well. The whole court wanted to gather around their beloved first Prince, to comfort him in his grief. Loki was too weary to elbow his way to his brother's side, so he had ended up here, among the minor courtiers.

It didn't matter. Very little seemed to matter, really.

The sky overhead was a roiling mass of gray and purple, shot through with lightning that sizzled as the thunder roared out Thor's misery. Fat raindrops were beginning to fall. Fandral and Hogun struggled to light the flaming arrow that was to be shot into the longship.

Without warning, the ship burst into flame. Fire as green as the heart of an emerald devoured the wet wood as if it were desert baked kindling. The crowd gasped, and then subsided into murmurs.

They stood and watched until the the last charred boards vanished beneath the churning waves. No matter how hard the rain fell, the fire never guttered. 

By the time they began the walk back to the palace, rain was falling in thick gray sheets. Loki slogged through water up to his ankles. It sloshed into his boots, and added pounds to the heavy velvet, wool and leather beneath his formal armor. The thunder was almost continuous, making the ground beneath his feet shudder. The lightning that split the sky again and again was red as an open wound. 

Just a few feet from the covered portico of the palace, Loki stumbled and fell. He was among the last few stragglers, and no one seemed to notice. He knelt on the cold granite steps for a moment, gathering his strength.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and he raised his head to see his mother bending over him with an almost frantic look on her face, her hair and robes beaten flat by the rain. 

“Are you alright?” she shouted over the howl of the wind.

“Yes! I just … slipped,” he shouted back.

She hauled him to his feet and slid an arm around his waist. The Queen might look willowy, but she was strong as iron. He leaned against her, just a little.

She pulled him past the massive columns of the portico, where at last the sounds of the storm grew muted. 

“What is the matter?” she demanded as he slumped against the wall.

“Nothing. I slipped on the steps in the rain, is all.”

She pressed her warm hand to his cheek. “It's more than that. You look terrible.”

“I'm well, Mother, truly, just tired. You should hurry to change for the feast.”

“The feast can wait. I know when my children need me.”

“Thor needs you more than I.”

Frigga gave a rueful little laugh and shook her head. “Child, I am not blind.”

Loki felt his throat tighten. “I know,” he whispered. “And that is why you will see that I need a little time to myself.”

She gazed into his eyes for a long moment, as though she could stare through them and into his heart. At last she sighed.

“You won't come to the feast, then?”

“No, I think I would like to go and lie down for a while.”

“That seems wise. I wish you would go to the Healing Halls. You look so pale.”

He shook his head. “A few hours of sleep is all the healing I need.”

“What am I to do with you?” She hugged him warm and tight. “Rest well, my love, and I will come to you after the feast. We must speak.”

He hugged her back with all of his waning strength. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, inhaling the scent of lilies and rain. “I love you, Mother,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.” When she pulled back, her eyes shone with tears. “Go and get out of those wet clothes.”

“Yes Ma'am.”

With a final smile she swept away toward her chambers, and Loki headed for his. He began casting off clothing the moment he reached his rooms, leaving a trail of armor and wet garments that led through his suite and into the bath-chamber

He did not usually crave hot water, but it was all that he wanted at the moment. He turned the taps as hot as they would go, and poured handfuls of herbs meant to ease aches and pains into the billowing steam. 

For once in his life he was glad of the pompous expanse of drunken, gluttonous wallowing that comprised a funeral feast, he thought as he sank into the tub with a sigh. There would be plenty of time for him to soak in the scalding water, to let it ease the sharpest of the aches and melt the ice in the marrow of his bones. He leaned his head back against the curved black onyx lip of the massive tub and closed his eyes.

Long ago he had gone into the cold, mountainous wastes of Midgard to study the art of meditation with a sect of mortal holy men. It was there that he had learned to empty his mind of all thought, and also to focus all the strength of his mind on a single thought, like the rays of the sun honed into a golden point by a magnifying glass. Over centuries of practice he had mastered these arts, and now they came to him as naturally as breathing.

But now as he tried to focus on the lessons taught to him by the monks in those days of study, it was not the days that rose in his memory, but the nights.

It was during those six months in the mountains that he had first learned the way into Sif's dreams. Every night as his body lay on a straw pallet on the stone floor of a monk's dank cell, his mind had walked beside hers in a world they built together of equal parts memory and fantasy. He had often lain her down in the lilies of the monastery's garden, in the blue white light of the full moon. Her hair had spread out in a pool beneath her, and against the white petals it was black as the spaces between the stars. 

He wrenched his mind from the memory with a physical effort. That way lay madness, literally. He could feel it like a chasm yawning at his feet (like the chasm that she had been flung into, the splendid black hair that he loved flying out behind her like a banner as she fell ...)

He finally forced his mind into the familiar channels of peaceful emptiness, but the effort left him trembling with exhaustion. With a sigh, he left the cooling water and donned his nightclothes. He padded into the bedroom to pull shut the heavy draperies of green velvet, blocking out the sheets of rain and the roiling bruise colored sky.   
At last he slipped beneath the fine white linen sheets and pulled the green silk coverlet up to his chin. Sif had often teased him about his love of creature comforts, especially where his bed was concerned. He had only the finest of linens, the softest mattress, the most sumptuous draperies, coverlets and furs.

“You are like a cat,” she told him one night as they lay nestled together. “All you want is a soft cushion to curl up on, a silver platter to eat from, and a hand to pet you.” She illustrated this by pushing her hand through his hair, rough and sweet.

“Should I be a dog then, to value nothing but a flea bitten rug to lie on, a bone to gnaw at, and a rabbit to chase? Ah, but then I would be Thor, would I not?”

Sif rose up and straddled his hips, her skin sliding against his in a heated rush. She cocked her head to one side as if in contemplation. “Dogs are well and good, but I never allow them into the bed.” She ran her nails lightly over his chest, and he shuddered beneath her. He was proud when he managed to speak, sounding only slightly breathless. 

“If I am a cat and Thor is a dog, then what does that make you, my lady? A falcon perhaps, all lethal grace and tearing talons?”

She leaned down to drag her heavy hair over the flat planes of his abdomen. He gasped, muscles quivering beneath the silken weight.

“No, I think not,” she said.

“Then perhaps you are a war-horse, sleek and swift and midnight black.”

Her chuckle was as warm as her breath when she nipped at his earlobe. “You and your horses. No, my Prince.”

“Then I admit defeat.”

She reached between them to guide him inside her. He sank into her familiar, welcoming warmth with a sigh, and her hips began to undulate, the movement lazy, smooth as the swell of a calm sea.

He was lost in sensation, dazed by the feel of her, so at first he did not understand her reply. “Mmm, what?”

“I said, I am the sea.”

That still did not make much sense. He raised an eyebrow.

A lop-sided smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You must be patient. I have not the way with poetry that you do, and I labored over this.”

He reached up to grasp her hips, reveling in the feel of her hot, smooth flesh beneath his palms. “I am listening.”

“I am the sea, you are the moon, and Thor is the sun.”

Loki grimaced. “Must we speak of Thor just now?”

“Patience, remember?” Her hands slid over his shoulders, the callouses left by sword hilts and ax handles rasping over his skin. “The sun warms the sea.”

“Yes, last I checked.” He thrust up into her, and she gasped, her own rhythm faltering. 

“But,” she continued breathlessly, “ the sun does not move the sea.”

He thought he could see now where this was heading. He showed his approval with another well timed thrust that drew a high, fluting sound from her throat.

“Only the moon can call the tides.” Her grip on his shoulders turned steely, her blunt nails biting into his flesh. “The moon and the sea reach their full strength together.”

“Together,” Loki whispered. One more hard thrust, and she cried out again, this time low and throaty. Her head fell back and her eyes fluttered shut as her body went taut as a drawn bow. His own cry harmonized with hers as he spilled inside her.

She flopped down to lie beside him, and for a moment they both lay silent as breath quieted and hearts slowed. At last he ran a hand down her sweat-slicked flank.

“I think that was fine poetry, my lady.”

Her already flushed face grew a shade brighter. “Don't tease. It is hard to find words with which to woo the Silvertongue.”

“I am not teasing.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, his tongue flicking over their tips. “And I do not believe I need any wooing. I have belonged to you for nearly as long as I can remember.”

“You belong to no one but yourself, like any good cat. But you seek out my company, and for that I am glad.” Sif nestled close to him, resting her cheek over the beat of his heart. “I hope it will always be so. My Loki...”

“Loki?” 

He had ridden the sweet warmth of the memory down into sleep, and he jerked awake at the sound of his name being called.

“Oh, I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” Thor said. He stood beside the bed, still in his wet cloak and armor, droplets of rain sparkling in his fair hair.

Loki felt his heart sink. Thor had just lost one of his two best friends; it was natural that he should look to the other for comfort. He had expected it, but not so soon. He had thought that his brother would seek solace at the bottom of a tankard of ale first, and that would give him time to gather himself, to dredge up enough comfort to give away. At the moment he had none, not even for himself. He looked up into Thor's bloodshot, salt-scoured eyes and tried to find the right words. Just this once he decided to speak the plain, unvarnished truth. 

“Thor, I am not feeling well.” His voice was low and rough with exhaustion, lending credence to his words. “Let me rest a little, and then we will talk as long as you like.”

“I can see that you are not well, you look awful. Do you need a healer?”

Loki rubbed at the bridge of his nose, where a persistent ache had settled. “I do not need anything but sleep.”

Thor shifted uneasily, looking slightly guilty. “I will not keep you long.”

“You should really be at the feast, you know. People must wonder where you've gone to.”

“ I don't care what anyone thinks!” Thor blurted. “And neither should you!”

Loki blinked up at his brother in puzzlement. “ When have you ever known me to care about anyone's opinion?”

“You must care, or you would have let them know that Sif was … your lady.”

Loki went very still. “I don't know what you mean,” he said smoothly, the denial rising automatically to his lips. 

Thor shook his head. “Loki, she told me. Sif told me herself.”

The room seemed to become too bright at the edges, and then it began to spin. Loki heard the thud of running boots, followed by a metallic clatter. Then Thor's arm was around his shoulders, and a goblet of wine was being pressed to his lips. He took a few sips of the cool liquid, and slowly the room came back into focus. At last he elbowed Thor away and took the glass himself.

Thor looked down at him, all white face and huge eyes. “Are you alright?”

“I … yes.” He was many things, but alright was not one of them. “Why? Why would she tell you after all this time?”

“I think … I think she had a premonition. She told me just before we went into the caves. She said that if anything were ever to happen to her, that I needed to take care of you, that I must not let you grieve alone.”

“That sounds like her,” Loki whispered. “She always did fret over me.”

“She said something else. It didn't really make sense to me, but she said that you would understand. She said to tell you that moon will always shine, whether the sea is there or not.”

Loki heard a half-strangled sound of pain, and it took a moment for him to realize that he had been the source. Thor pulled him close. 

“What can I do for you, Loki?” He sounded nearly as anguished as Loki felt. “There must be something that I can do!”

“Bring her back to me. If you can't do that, then there is nothing.”

“I am so sorry! It was so strange that she suddenly told me. I should have known that something was not right.” Fresh tears began to flow down Thor's cheeks. “ I never should have let her into the cave!”

“It is not your fault, Thor. Nobody could keep Sif from doing as she pleased. Only chaining her to the wall could have kept her from charging toward glory.”

Thor couldn't help but smile at that, just a little. “That is true.”

“I have always known that she would rather die in battle than in a warm bed. I think this is what she would have wanted, had she been able to choose her end.”

“I don't know if …” Thor abruptly fell silent.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You mean that she would not have chosen to tumble down into a bottomless pit.”

Thor's eyes went round. “How did you know?”

“ I saw it in a dream.” He had dreamed of a cave, glittering with ice and torchlight. Sif stood panting, making a face as she attempted to scrape a noxious looking greenish ichor from her sword. A dead beast lay at her feet; he could not tell what it had been. Now it was just a wrinkled heap of damp beige flesh leaking more of the greasy fluid.

There was a rumble, and without warning the ground gave way beneath her feet. There had been terror on her face, but only for a split second. Then it had changed to a look somewhere between anger and grim resignation. The last thing he saw was her hair, that rich, shining dark fall that had been the work of his hands so long ago, flying upward before she was swallowed by the abyss.

He had awakened in the darkness gasping for breath and calling her name. He had not felt that blessed rush of relief that normally follows upon waking from a nightmare. Instead he felt something deep inside of him snap, as though a cord that had connected them had stretched as far as it could, and then broken. For just a moment, the coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth, and he knew that she was gone.

Beside him, he heard Thor give a weary sigh. “I had hoped that you would not have to know exactly how it happened. I wished to spare you that.”

“I would have undertaken to find out, even if I had not seen it. What were those things that you went into the cave to kill?”

“I don't know. They were like nothing any of us had ever seen before. Like great maggots with wings.” Thor shuddered at the memory, and Loki knew that anything that could so disgust his brother must be foul, indeed.

“Did you kill all of them?'

“Yes. Sif killed the last of them before she fell. We crushed three nests full of eggs, as well.”

“Good,” Loki sighed. Thor still had not let go of him, and seemed to have no intention of doing so anytime soon. Loki decided to make the best of it, and leaned against him wearily. At least he was warm.

Thor reached up to pet his brother's hair tentatively. “Are you sure you don't wish me to send for a healer? You seem so weak,” he said gently.

“ No, Thor. I am simply tired. I didn't know it was possible to be this tired and not die of it.”

Thor gave his younger brother's shoulders a sympathetic squeeze. “I should go and let you rest. Unless you would like me to stay with you.”

Loki opened his mouth to issue a scathing denial, but that was not what left his lips. 

“You could stay. If it would make you feel better,” he added hastily.

To his credit, Thor did not even smile. “It would make me feel much better.”

“Very well then,” Loki replied with what he hoped was a long-suffering sigh.

Thor let him go, and he curled back up beneath the covers. He frowned when Thor rose and began looking around as though in search of something.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for a chair that will hold me without breaking. You have always liked your furniture to be made of gilded twigs.” 

Loki smiled a little at the familiar complaint. “The bed will hold you well enough.” He patted the empty spot beside him. When Thor hesitated, he rolled his eyes.

“I have not bitten you in years, brother.”

“I will have you know that I still bear a scar from the last time. But it is not that.”

“What is it, then?”

“Usually you require more … personal space.”

“Usually I do,” Loki said quietly. “But today I feel most unusual. Come and lie down. You must be weary, yourself.”

Thor hesitated a moment more, but at last he began removing his cloak, armor and boots. When he was finally clad only in tunic and trousers, he slid beneath the covers. 

“When was the last time you and I shared a bed?”

“Not since we were children.”

Loki had closed his eyes, but he could hear the smile in his brother's voice. “Do you remember when you and Sif used to creep into my bed every time it thundered?”

“Of course. Over time I came to suspect that you caused some of that thunder yourself because you couldn't sleep and craved entertainment.”

As if to punctuate the statement, a great boom of thunder cracked overhead, leaving a faint sound of tinkling glass in its wake. Loki saw lightning flash, bright even through his closed eyelids. He could not help but laugh.

“I loved storms. I loved having my two best friends with me until dawn.” 

“Sif used to come to my room even when there were no storms, because she was afraid of the dark. Did you know that?”

“No, I did not. I never knew she feared anything but thunder. And spiders.”

For a while they were both quiet, listening to the rain lash the windows. 

“Thor?”

“Yes?”

“Do you … you don't think that it is dark where she is now, do you? She is not alone in the dark, is she?” Loki heard his voice tremble on the last words, and he tasted tears on his lips. 

He felt Thor fumble beside him for a moment, and then his brother's warm hand found his. 

“No. She has taken her seat in Valhalla, among all the great and the valiant. And none of them is greater than she.”

Loki nodded, though he doubted that Thor could see it. The light was dim and murky, the sun's dying rays hidden by storm clouds. 

“I don't know what she saw in me. I never did. All of my life I have been a creeping thing, a creature of shadows, and she was made of nothing but light. She was all my light, and I am afraid of the dark without her.”

“Oh, Loki!” Thor let go of his hand in favor of leaning over to wrap both arms around him. “I know I can't make it right, I can't bring her back, but you are not alone. I am here with you. And as for why Sif loved you, she clearly had far more sense than you have ever had.”

“I am not certain of that,” Loki mumbled thickly. “Some of the company she kept made me doubt her taste.”

Thor chuckled softly, and his voice was warm when he replied. “Go to sleep, Loki.”

“Stop telling me what to do,” Loki whispered as his eyes fell shut again, and he drifted softly into dreams.

 

Thor lay awake for a long time in the stormy gloom, absently petting his brother's back. It was an odd feeling. Loki had been physically affectionate enough when they were children, but these days he did not permit much touching at all. Thor feared that his current desire for closeness spoke of utter misery, and the need for comfort over dignity.

This made him think back on the last time that he had held a weeping Loki in his arms. They had been children then, still quite small, really. The son of one of the nobles, a boy older than they by several years, had been mocking Loki. Even then, others had sensed that there was something different about the youngest prince, and children are seldom kind to those that they do not not understand. 

The older boy had beat Loki soundly, and then flung him into a puddle of mud, in front of several laughing witnesses. Thor knew the mud and the laughter had hurt his brother far more than the bruises, though those were considerable as well. He had dried Loki's tears, and gone forth to find the person responsible for them.

He quickly found the bully, but his work had been done for him.

By Sif.

On one hand, he was sorry that he had not been the one to defend his little brother's honor. On the other, he could not think of a worse punishment than being pounded by a girl, and a fairly little girl at that. Sif had done more damage to the boy than he had done to Loki. She had also injured several of the jeering bystanders. 

I really should have known then, Thor thought. 

 

As the years passed, Thor had observed that anyone who troubled Sif became oddly accident prone, and quite often ended up the laughingstock of the court after being caught publicly in some sort of foolish deed. People who troubled Loki often ended up beaten to within an inch of their lives. He had aways put their ferocity in each other's defense down to friendship. He wondered now how he could have failed to realize that two of the people he loved most in the world were in love with each other.

He was also having difficulty trying to understand why they had taken such pains to hide their relationship. He planned to ask Loki when he felt better.

When he felt better. Thor was not at all certain when that would be. He was not certain that Loki would ever be the same again.

Thor was a man who liked to fix things. And through the course of his life, he had been able to fix nearly everything that broke in his environs. Brute strength, charm, wealth, position, or sheer determination would make most things in life right when they went wrong. 

But some things simply could not be mended. He could not bring Sif back from the dead, could not mend Loki's heart, or even his own, for that matter. All he could do was try to hold himself together, and provide strength for his brother to draw on.

He hoped that it would be enough.


	2. Hello, Darkness, My Old Friend

Sif woke in a place that was dark and cold, and wholly unfamiliar. There was a moment of sheer unadulterated terror, and she felt a scream rising in her throat.

But she was a warrior bred and trained, and this was hardly the first time she had been hit in the head, and then been confused upon waking. She forced herself to relax, to wait until the tangled mess between her ears resolved itself into something that made sense. 

At first, the last thing that she could remember was Loki, looking at her with that maddening expression that was half languor, half exasperation. It was the way he always looked when she was trying to convince him to do something he didn't want to do. 

What had it been? Hunting, that was it. She and Thor and the Warriors Three had decided to travel to the only place in the Nine Realms where it was still possible to fell a woolly mammoth. She had wanted Loki to come with them. She always wanted him to come. 

Every adventure was better in his company. Not only because of his skills in magic or battle, but because of who he was. He always had a good song or tale with which to pass a long hike or a cold night or a rainy afternoon.

And then there was always the adolescent thrill of a stolen kiss behind a tree, of a knowing smile shared over the heads of their friends, the delicious risk of slipping beneath the skins on his pallet when the others had fallen asleep.

So on this occasion she had wheedled and cajoled, and at last resorted to the phrase that had nearly always worked on him, since they were children.

“Come out and play with me, Loki,” she said.

That had curved his lips upward, and turned his green eyes warm as sunlit water. He laid a cool palm against her cheek. 

“I would, truly, but but I need to be here tomorrow night when the moon is full. I've been working on a spell that can only be completed then.”

“What kind of spell?”

He perked up at that, like a morning glory at sunrise. He loved to tell her about his toys. “It is a Midgardian protective spell. You fill a jar with rusty nails, and then you urinate in it at midnight, and...”

“That does sound very ... important,” Sif interrupted before he could share anything more. “Next time, perhaps?”

“Next time,” he agreed, reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “How long will you be gone?”

“Three days, perhaps four.”

“That is not so bad. I will plan on a most merry celebration of your return.”

“See that you do.” She turned to go then, and he returned his attention to the book open on the table before him. She stopped at the doorway and looked back.

His head was bowed over the book, and late afternoon sun poured through the window behind him, picking out the mahogany highlights in his dark hair. It had grown long lately, as he claimed he was too busy to have it cut. At the moment it was tied back with a leather cord that he had liberated from her dressing table that morning. A few strands had escaped, and they curled untidily about his ears.

Sif's heart was suddenly so full that it hurt.

She didn't have to go. She could make her excuses, and spend the next few days by Loki's side. She could walk in the gardens with him, or out into the city. She could help him with his spell (unhygienic though it sounded). After supper she could sit at his feet, her head resting on his knee, while he told her tales of far away lands and ancient days.

 

Sif shook herself a little and squared her shoulders. That was foolishness, she was no simpering girl unable to spend a day outside of her love's company. He would be there when she returned.

She marched out of the room swiftly, ignoring the strange tug on her heart.

She remembered riding across the Bifrost with the others, and landing in the remote ice-bound world that was their destination. From there they made their way to the only inn in the little village that was the last stop before the expanse of frozen wastes. The plan had been to spend the night there, and then head west, to the plains where the mammoths dwelt. 

That night they were eating in the dingy, smoke-filled common room of the inn when the village Elder approached them, to petition for the aid of Mighty Thor and his brave companions.

The tale that the Elder told was a very strange one. For nearly two months now, livestock had been vanishing from the village and the surrounding farms with alarming regularity.

At first people had thought wolves must be to blame, and watches were set, but the vanishings continued. No wolves were seen; nothing was seen, in fact. The thefts always seemed to take place on unusually dark, moonless nights. Several witnesses had reported hearing a strange buzzing drone that filled them with horror.

One night a farmer was awakened by the droning sound, coupled with the lowing of a terrified cow. He had rushed outside, bow and arrow in hand.

Clouds rushed across the face of the moon, now and then allowing slivers of light to come through. By that faint glow the farmer had seen a vague blob pulling the shrieking cow up into the air. He fired an arrow at the indistinct target.

There was a earsplitting shriek as the arrow found it's mark, and then the farmer's shoulder was hit by some sort of liquid that burned him like a drop of fire. As he crumpled to the ground in pain, he saw his cow being borne away into the night sky. 

 

He had been left with a severe burn on his back, and now he lay in the healer's cottage, sick with fever.

The next day others had followed a trail of foul greenish slime that they supposed must be the blood of the unknown creature. It led them out of the village, across a small plane, and halfway up the slope of a nearby mountain, where it entered the yawning black mouth of a cavern. They had ventured a little way into the cave, and though they saw nothing, they heard the ominous droning sound echoing back at them from deep in the mountain.It sounded as though there was more than one beast lurking inside. Lacking both the skill and the weapons needed to route out the creatures, they had made a hasty retreat.

Thor readily agreed to look into the matter. They had come with the intention of hunting, after all. And it sounded as if these things, whatever they were, might make even better sport that a mammoth.

“It does not sound to me like a dragon,” Thor said, biting deep into a turkey drumstick. “Dragons take livestock, but their wings flap, they do not buzz. And I have seen some dragons spit poison instead of breathe fire, but I have never seen one bleed any color but red.”

“I rather wish Loki were here,” Fandral said. “He would know what it was, right away.”

Sif wished that he were there, too, but not just because of the beasts. She was thinking of the cold, lonely bed waiting for her upstairs.

“It matters not,” said Volstagg, taking a swig of ale. “There is not anything alive the five of us cannot put an end to.”

They could all agree to that, so in the morning it was with no real trepidation that they set out for the mountain. 

They reached the cave without incident. At first all was silent, but after a moment they began to hear the thick droning sound that the villagers spoke of. They lit their torches, and prepared to explore the caves. Sif took a torch in one hand, her sword in the other, and stepped forward into the cave. 

That was when it hit her.

A shudder ran through her whole body, that touch of ice that people say means a cat has walked over your grave. But the sinister feeling that suddenly filled her was not something that she had ever felt before. 

She had wondered idly in the past how it was that seers were certain when they felt the touch of prophesy. How did they know that what they felt was truly a knowledge of what was to come, and not just a flash of imagination?

That was clear to her now. She just knew with complete certainty, the way that one knows dawn is coming while the sky is still dark. There was no questioning the truth of what she felt.

Something horrible would happen to her if she entered the cave. 

Part of her wanted to run the other direction, of course, but that part was quickly drowned by the warrior in her, who had never and would never run from danger. She was also not about to leave her friends to face an unknown foe without her.

But if there was a chance that she would leave this place borne upon her shield, there was something she had to see to, something that she should have seen to long ago.

She ran her tongue over lips that had suddenly gone dry. “Thor?”

He turned from peering into the darkness to look at her. “Yes?”

“I would have a word with you.”

His eyebrows shot up to join his hair. “Now?”

“Yes, now. It will not take long.”

“I am listening.”

“I … could we speak alone, please?”

Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg looked on with varying degrees of concern, but none of them said a word.

They probably think I am having some kind of female problem, Sif thought wryly.

She and Thor stepped away from the others, and and Thor studied her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Are you having a female problem?” he asked gently.

“No! It... well, in a way I am.”

His worried expression took on a note of fear.

“Thor, there is something I must tell you, something that I should have told you long ago, really. It has to do with Loki.”

“Has he done something to you?” Thor demanded instantly. “I told him after he cut your hair that if he ever...”

“We're lovers!” Sif blurted.

It sounded so strange, even to her. In her own mind she never thought of Loki as her lover. To her a lover was someone with whom you shared torrid sex and little else. A person that you shared your dreams and thoughts with, that you teased and tormented and cried and laughed with, was a friend. He was a different sort of friend, to be sure, but that was still what he was, in her mind.

Thor stared at her for a moment, his mouth working silently.

“This is a jest,” he said at last. It was not a question. 

“No, it is not.”

“But you … I am not always certain you two even like each other!” 

Sif felt a smile tug at her lips. “Just because we like to toss words back and forth from time to time does not mean that we aren't fond of each other.”

Thor snorted. “You two throw words like he throws knives, with great skill and greater bloodshed.”

She could not help but grin at that. “It is much more fun than throwing knives, I assure you.”

“So Loki has always said. How long has this been going on?”

Sif's smile faded then, and she dropped her eyes to the dusty toes of his boots. “ A while, Thor.”

“How long is a 'while' ?”

“Since the summer before you gained Mjolnir.”

“ But you... we were barely more than children then! And you have been together all this time, and concealed it? Why?! And why are you telling me now?”

“I will explain to you why we kept it secret later, I promise. As for why I am telling you now, I should have done so long ago. I've thought of it a million times.” She swallowed audibly through a tight throat. “Thor, if anything should ever happen to me, you must promise me that you will take care of Loki. You must not let him grieve alone.”

She only raised her head when she felt him lay a warm hand upon her shoulder. 

“Of course I will take care of him, but there will not be any need, not anytime soon. You are one of the greatest warriors that Asgard has ever bred. You are sure to live to a ripe old age. Which should give you plenty of time to explain to me how you have managed to put up with my brother for so long, and why you have not been bragging about being able to do so.”

Sif felt a prickle behind her eyes as she smiled up at him. “Thank you, Thor. And I... there is just one more thing.” She felt her face turning a bright burning red, but she had to say it. “If ever there is a time that I am gone, you must tell Loki something for me. Tell him that the moon will always shine, whether the sea is there or not. He will understand.”

“Very well, I will remember. Do you feel easier now?”

“Yes, yes I do.” It was true. She suddenly felt as though a weight had been lifted from her, and all of the darkness and fearful knowing was gone.

“Good, for we have some hell-beasts to kill!” Thor raised Mjolnir and turned to stride into the cave. Sif followed after him, and this time when she crossed the threshold she felt nothing but the rising song of battle in her blood.

That figured, she thought. She had far more in common with milk-maids than seers. Probably that strange flash of feeling was nothing more than a prod from her long held guilt at not letting Thor know her secret. Still, she did not regret telling him. It was long past time.

Together Sif, Thor and the Warriors Three followed the cave as it twisted and turned, tunneling ever deeper into the heart of the mountain. With every step they took the droning seemed to become louder, until Sif could feel it vibrating through her teeth and the marrow of her bones.

At last the cavern made a sharp turn. Thor was in the lead, and as he disappeared around the corner she heard him make a shocked sound. She hurried to join him, and what she saw drew the breath from her lungs.

Before her was a huge chamber, festooned with stalactites of glittering crystal. She was reminded of the great geode that sat sat glimmering on the shelf in Loki's study. If you could cut the mountain open, it's middle would be a sparkling hollow, just like the smaller stones.

If the cavern itself was beautiful, what it held was surely not. The droning was almost deafening now, and she could see what had produced it. The creatures were near the back wall of the cavern, at least four of then writhing together in a slimy mass. 

Maggots, that was what they looked like. Maggots the size of war horses, with great transparent insectile wings, the constant motion of which created the droning. Their bodies were whitish and transparent as well, and the unclean workings of blood and organ was visible through their skin. Their mouths were blood red circles, ringed with sharp triangular teeth, constantly opening and closing.

“What are they?!” Fandral shouted over the droning.

“I do not know, but I like them not.” Hogun replied, raising his sword.

“Neither do I,” Thor agreed before charging toward them, hammer in hand.

 

The things proved relatively easy to kill, but there was a trick to it. Their hides, despite being thin and nearly transparent, were unnaturally tough. Volstagg learned this the hard way when he attempted to behead one with the edge of his sword. He brought it down sideways on the creature's neck (if they could be said to have necks) with a tremendous amount of force. All that did was cause the thing's beady black eyes to bulged outward cartoonishly. Sif was not certain whether to laugh or vomit. 

Hogun discovered that the way to end the beasts was to stab them deeply with the point of a sword. That alone would break the skin, and then the things deflated like a pierced wine-skin, spewing the foul greenish muck that was their blood over the floor of the cave.

Sif was particularly glad that she had thought to bring her glaive, as it pierced the tough monster-hide well, while enabling her to stand at a fair distance from the body. The one thing to be avoided, besides the scarlet ringed maws and their teeth, was their acidic spit. By the time she slew the last one, her shield and armor were covered with smoking black pits where the spit had struck her, but she managed to keep it from her flesh and hair.

Sif killed the last of them. It died with a sound like a pig's scream, and rush of thin, stinking fluid. When it lay at her feet in a sopping mess, she looked to her fouled sword-blade with a grimace.

And that was when she felt the ominous rumble beneath her feet, and then there was nothing beneath her feet but air. 

Her stomach lurched. There was a flash of terror, and then one of rage. It would not be a foe that killed her after all, but a freak accident. It was not the glorious warrior's death she had imagined. Her last conscious thought was, at least I told Thor. Then there was what felt like an eternity of falling, but it did not end with the expected sickening crack of breaking bone and meat. Instead she slipped into soft darkness.

Then this, the awakening in the dark.

Having straightened the chaos of her waking thoughts, Sif opened her eyes.

She was in almost complete darkness. Several feet ahead of her there was a faint glow at the level of the floor, but she could not tell what it was, or see much of anything by it's light. Looking up revealed nothing but more inky darkness.

She shifted her right leg, feeling weight at her ankle and hearing the scratch and rattle of iron scraping over the stone. She felt around her leg and found that she was shackled to the wall behind her with a length of heavy chain. 

She ran her hands all over her body and quickly realized two things. The first was that she was completely unhurt, not even bruised. The second was that all of her weapons were gone, including all of the hidden blades that she normally secreted in various places on her person. Gone too was the pendant she always wore, a shining disk of hematite carved with various runes and symbols. It was a protective amulet that Loki had given her long ago, and she did not remove it, even when bathing.

All that was left was her clothing, hunting leathers, heavy coat and winter boots, leather gloves, and her canteen and the pouch at her belt that held 3 days rations of dried meat and waybread.

She lay still for a moment, willing her heart and breathing to slow. It was then that she heard a soft slithering sound, much like taffeta petticoats sliding over flagstones.

“Thor!” she called at the top of her lungs. Instinct told her that he could not hear her. If he thought her alive and where he could reach her, she would see torchlight, or hear something other than the deafening silence and the whisper of movement on stone.

“Thor is not here,” said a soft, crystalline female voice.

“Who is there?” Sif demanded of the darkness.

“I am here,” the voice replied serenely.

“Who are you?” Again she heard the whisper of movement, and this time she strained to peer into the darkness in the direction from which it seemed to have come. There was a slight stirring in the blackness, but she could see nothing more than that.

“I have many names,” the silky voice said. “I doubt that you have heard any of them. For these purposes, you may call me Lilith.”

“Lilith,” she did not recognize the name, exactly, but it gave her a sinking feeling. Where had she heard it before? From Loki, perhaps? “What do you want with me?”

The voice held a warm note of amusement. “What makes you think that I am keeping you? How do you know that I am not a fellow captive?”

“You don't sound like one.”

“Ah! And what do I sound like, then?”

Sif was liking this less with each passing minute. “What do you mean?”

“What do you imagine when you hear my voice? Am I fat or thin, tall or short? Is my hair brown or red?”

There was no way to know what the disembodied voice would accept as a the right answer, so she simply told the truth. “You sound tall and thin. And blonde.”

“Very good! That is precisely what I once was. Tall and slender and golden haired.”  
Sif heard shifting movement, and then something slithered against her calf. She gasped and drew away instinctively; it had felt like a snake sliding over her leg. She heard a splash, and then suddenly there was light.

The faint glow on the floor was a pool of water, and it must be phosphorescent, for something had been thrown in to disturb the surface, and now it was filled with glowing ripples. By that eerie blue light Sif saw what had touched her leg. 

It was a tentacle.

It was a mottled brownish gray on the top, a sickish white-green on the bottom, studded with purple suckers. It stretched away into the darkness, beyond the reach of the phosphorescent light.

Slowly the pool settled and the light faded. The cave was plunged into blackness once more. 

“I am no longer what I once was. I would show you the rest, but I so dislike the sound of screaming. I just wanted you to have a taste, so that you understand what I have lost.”

It took several tries before Sif managed to speak. Her mouth was so dry that her lips and tongue stuck to her teeth. 

“Lilith, I have taken nothing from you,” she managed at last.

“No, you did not, but your bonded mate did.”

“My what?”

“You know very well who I mean. I smelled him all over you the instant you set foot in the cave. Loki!” She spat the name as though it were the foulest of curses.

“I … I don't know what you're talking about,” Sif said faintly.

“You can try to deny it all you like, but I know he is bonded to you, deep as bone. It is there to be seen for anyone who possesses the skill to do so.”

Confusion was starting to war with fear. “What does that mean, bonded? I don't understand.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the voice spoke again, a chuckle brewing just below the words. “Oh, oh, this is delightful! Do you truly not know that he is bound to you? Do you even know what a pair bonding is, child?”

“No!” 

“I am not entirely surprised, you Aseir are a mundane folk, such things rarely happen among you. A pair bond is a connection that forms between two beings, usually in couples where at least one of the two is rich in magic. When you are bound to a mate, your soul and the animating spark within you that gives you life, are tied to the soul and the life-force of that person. In your case, the bond only goes one way. I see that Loki is bound to you, but you are not bound to him. If he died, you would live on, but if you should die, he will die with you.”

“You...you lie. You must be lying. I would know such a thing!”

Lilith's voice was soft, almost pitying. “You do know. In your heart of hearts, you know that I speak the truth.

The horrible thing was that she did. She knew it was true with the same certainty that she had known evil would befall her if she entered this thrice-damned cave. She pressed a hand to her belly, for suddenly she felt as though a ball of ice was forming there. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Mmm, you might call it a lonely impulse of delight. And on the subject of bonding, I should probably tell you that your friends left for home some time ago. They do not believe that you could have survived the fall. I created an illusion that showed them a great, icy river, at an unfathomable depth beneath the floor of the cavern above. They think you dead, and your corpse beyond recovery. Your Loki thinks you dead, as well. Under normal circumstances he would sense that you still lived, no matter how well you were hidden. I cannot break a bond like yours, but I can... tamper with it. Your mate cannot feel you, and as far as his mind and body are concerned, you are no longer among the living. It has been two days since your evident loss. By now he is surely feeling ill enough that he has taken to his bed. He may know what ails him, or he may not. If he does not, he will probably summon all of the healers to fuss over him. It will not help. There is nothing that anyone can do to aide him. He will die a slow, sick death. And I will keep you alive until he is dead, for it will please me to know that he suffered and died while I held the only thing that could heal him.”

If the chain fastening her to the wall had not been so short, Sif would have flung herself in the direction of the silken voice, and tried to rip it from the throat that held it with her bare hands. “Why?! Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because he took my beauty from me, the body that was a match with this voice. He took it, and he took my power from me. That is why I am exiled to the bottom of a hole on a frozen chunk of rock at the end of the universe. This death is far less than what he deserves.” The voice panted for a moment, as though Lilith were trying to regain control over herself.

“Now then,” she said at last, with a brisk note of cheer. “Dawn is coming, and I believe that I shall retire. I suggest you do the same. Or, to speak more plainly, if you do not lie still and quiet until sunset, I will change my plan to keep you alive for the time being. Sleep well, Lady Sif.”


	3. Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Sif lay motionless for for some time, listening to silence so profound that it was like a pressure on her eardrums. She did not know whether Lilith's threat had been an idle one, so she chose to heed it.  
She used the silent time to think.

There was a chance, a way that she might be able to reach Loki. She could even get him to send a rescue party in search of her. There was only one problem.

She had to be able to fall asleep.

Sif made herself as comfortable as she could on the cold stone floor, and after a while she finally forced herself to relax, and the the world around her to slowly recede. It was a soldier’s trick, being able to make yourself fall asleep, to take advantage of every snatched moment of peace.

If Lilith was correct in her feeling that dawn was near, the sun had been up for an hour or two by now. Loki had never been an early riser, and with any luck he was still asleep. Of course, if he were ill, he would surely be asleep...

She thrust the thought away. Perhaps the bitter feeling in her heart was wrong, and it was all a lie. She would soon find out.

Over the years Loki had tried to teach her quite a bit of magic. He told her often that she had natural talent, and that if she would just apply herself, she could wield a great deal of power. She usually responded by pointing out that he had a natural talent for sword fighting. That would end the discussion.

But just as Loki had beheaded his fair share of unpleasant things, she had picked up a little magic here and there. She knew three different charms to stop the blood, one to break a fever, and one to start a fire. 

(Once, in childhood, she had experimented with a spell that would cause an enemy’s hair to fall out. When she tried to use it on her despised nemesis Ingrid, it had backfired horribly. As soon as Sif discovered that she had gone completely bald, she turned to the only person she could for help. He had replaced her hair, though it had come in dark instead of its original gold. And he hadn't even laughed. Much. He had even spread the rumor that he had cut it in the first place, and then he had helped her to fill Ingrid's dresser drawer with live rats. It had turned out to be a good day.)

Since then, Sif had approached magic with caution. The only advanced magic that she had ever worked was Dreamwalking. There, she had applied herself.

It payed off now as she felt her sleeping consciousness catch the edge of Loki's. A familiar sensation filled her, like that of a key slipping into a well-oiled lock.

 

In Loki's dream it was night, but not the inky black night that surrounded her sleeping body. This was the luminous night of Asgard. The plum colored swath of sky above was dizzy with stars and swirling galaxies, the air was warm and soft and heavy with the scent of gardenias.

These were the Queen's gardens, and she knew where to find Loki.

Sif followed the path, past the Fountains of the Moon and Sun, past the rose garden where even by moonlight each petal shone like a ruby, lit by a fire within. She skirted the edge of the boxwood labyrinth, and crossed a courtyard where peacocks strolled beneath the boughs of a cherry tree heavy with both pink blossoms and ripe red-black fruit.

Loki was in the herb garden, on his back in the soft grass between the bed of chamomile and the garden wall. 

She had seen him there and thus a million times, his hands folded behind his head, gazing up at the stars.

She ran toward him, and her hug was more like a tackle than an embrace, but he was long used to that sort of thing. When she finally stopped squeezing him, she sat back on her heels.

At once her joy began to fade. Loki had hugged her back, but he still lay on the grass, oddly limp. There had been no cry of joy, not even a look of surprise. He simply gazed up at her, his expression soft and wistful, and sad. 

She saw something else that troubled her. Dream bodies tended to reflect the state of the dreamer's body in the waking world. Many times she had come to Loki's dreams sporting black eyes and split lips.

Now, his face was pale and drawn, and dark smudges stained the skin beneath his eyes. 

“Loki?” Sif whispered. She laid her hand against his cheek, and he felt cold. 

“Sif?” he smiled a weary shadow of his usual grin. 

“Are you alright?”

He shrugged languidly. “I am as well as can be expected, I suppose.”

“You don't seem surprised to see me.”

“I am not. I knew that I would dream of you. I am grateful that it's this, and not a nightmare.”

It was starting to dawn on her. “Loki, you aren't dreaming of me, you're dreaming with me!”

“No, I am not,” he took her hand from his cheek, but he didn't let her go. He entwined his fingers with hers. “I would feel you, and I don't. You are dead.”

Sif felt a sudden rush of panic and helplessness that made her stomach churn. “I am not dead! You must listen to me! I am still in the cave, in some sort of pit that I fell into. A creature called Lilith is holding me captive, and she said she had done something that would make you think me dead. That must be why you can't feel me now.”

“Lilith? How odd, I haven't thought of her in years.” He tugged at her sleeve. “Lie down with me.”

“No. I am not here to cuddle.”

He laughed, and let his hand fall back to the grass. “Somehow I am not surprised that I should dream of a realistic Sif, instead of the sweet, acquiescent maiden of my fantasies.”

She couldn't help but snort at that. “If your fantasies run toward that sort of thing, you've had the wrong woman in your bed all this time.”

“Oh, I think I chose wisely. Sweetness and light grow boring quickly. A partner in crime is a mate for life.” He looked up at her, his eyes luminous with emotion. “I will storm my way into Valhalla to find you. I will scale every wall, flatten everyone who stands between us. And if that doesn't work, I will trick my way in. I'll turn myself into a magpie, and sing at your window every morning until you open it and let me in.”

Sif felt tears begin to sting her eyes. “Lilith said that you are bound to me in some strange way. She said that if you thought me dead, you would be ill because of it. You are ill, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am. I am dying, and I am so relieved. I could not face a life without you.”

She bowed her head, and began to sob. After a moment she felt him wrap his arms around her. 

“Don't cry, Sif, please. An eternity with me won't be that awful. You'll adjust.”

She choked a little as laughter tried to surface through the tears clogging her throat. He had always been good at that, drawing her gently from tears or a black mood. 

“I'm sorry, I am so sorry!” she managed to say at last.

“You silly child, what do you have to be sorry about?” 

“I broke your heart.”

He pulled her closer, guiding her head down onto his shoulder and stroking her hair with a gentle touch. “No, being parted from you broke my heart. Those are two very different things.”

He held her while her sobs faded to hiccups. She mopped her nose on the hem of his cloak.

“Hmm, very dainty, my love.”

“Shut up.” She relaxed against him and closed her eyes, listening to the steady thump of his heart beneath her cheek. “Is Thor taking care of you the way that I asked him to? Did he tell you what I said?”

“Yes and yes. I fell asleep with his grubby paws all over me, as a matter of fact.” His hands roamed over her back, her hair, in a soothing rhythm. “As for what you told him to tell me, I fear you are wrong. I think perhaps I was the sea all along, and the moon fell from the sky. Without it the sea is flat and devoid of life.”

“Don't say that,” Sif whispered. “And be kind to Thor. He loves you so much.” A thought occurred to her, and she raised her head. “Have you told how bad you feel? That you're...”

“Not long for this world? No, I haven't told anyone.”

“Loki! You need all the help the healers can give you. Even if they can't make you completely well, they can at least help you to hang on until I can come back to you. Why haven't you told anyone?”

“I haven't even told myself, really.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“This,” with a gesture he encompassed the garden around them and the stars above, “is a deeper part of the mind than one normally dreams in. I think that I know things here that I don't know in the waking world.”

“So not even you realize how bad off you are.” Sif shook her head. She thought that it should be impossible to be exhausted in a dream, but she seemed to be finding a way. “Why are you dreaming in a peculiar place?”

“I think that I am sleeping more deeply than a healthy body should be able to.”

“What does that...feel like?” 

He made a sound that was suspiciously close to a purr. “Good, extremely good.”

She smiled at that. “You always have enjoyed your beauty sleep.”

“I like it best when you are beside me.”

She settled against him again, allowing her head to fall back to his shoulder. They were both quiet for a while.

“Loki?” she said at last.

“Mmm?”

“Lilith told me that you and I are bonded mates. If that is true, as it seems to be, why did you never tell me?”

“It is true, but I didn't tell you because I didn't know.”

“How could you not know?”

“I have heard of such things, but knowing that it could happen in theory does not mean that I would know what it felt like. And it almost never happens among our people, it is far more common amongst the Elves and the Jotun. It is surely not something I was expecting.”

“Lilith said that I am not bound to you the way that you are bound to me. Do you think that's true?”

 

He was quiet for a long moment, clearly deep in thought. “I believe that is true,” he said at last. “I think that I would have felt it if you were bonded to me. We often see things in others that we cannot recognize in ourselves.”

Sif stirred a little in his arms. The guilt flooding her felt like a physical weight. “But why, why would this happen to you and not to me? Is it...is it because...”

“No, you don't love me any less than I love you.” He had always had an uncanny way of finishing her thoughts for her. “It is no different than you having brown eyes and mine being green. What is happening to me is simply an accident of biology.” His tone turned bitter. “I have never been like everyone else, why should this be any different?”

She shook her head. “If you are unlike the rest of our people, it is only because you are special.”

Loki sighed. “You sound like my mother.”

“I can only hope to be as wise as she is, someday.” She reached up to stroke his hair, winding a few ebony strands around her finger. “You must try to hold on, Loki. You must not give up. I know how strong you are, and I know that you can fight until I can get back to you. I will find some way to escape Lilith and come home to you. I swear it on my sword and on my honor.”

“We will be together,” he whispered, “very soon.”

Sif was opening her mouth to reply when the garden around them gave a staticky flash. Loki gasped and pressed a hand to his chest. 

“What is it?” she asked, alarmed.

His eyes darkened and narrowed. “Nothing drastic. Someone is merely attempting to wake me in the most annoying way possible.”

The dream was fraying, she could feel it. She knew that she should let him go; if someone was trying to wake him, it was probably for a good reason. But she could not help but hold on for a moment more, to feel his arms around her for just a little longer.

Then she opened her eyes, and found herself alone, on the cold stone floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, and thank you for sticking with me this far! I figured it was a good time to mention that the manner in which I post this sucker might be slightly erratic. It is a completed work, how fast I put it up is just entirely dependent on how fast I can type. ;)


	4. A Rude Awakening

When Loki woke, the first thing thing that he did, even before opening his eyes, was to aim a fist in the general direction of whoever was rubbing a bony knuckle against his equally bony sternum. 

He felt his fist connect with a bearded jaw, and heard a familiar grunt. He opened his eyes to see Thor drawing back, one hand pressed to his jaw. Oddly enough, he looked relieved.

“You were right! It worked!”

Loki turned his head to see who Thor was directing both his gaze and his grateful words to. Eir, the senior healer, was standing on the other side of the bed.

“It nearly always works, unless the person is beyond reaching at all. Thank you for volunteering to do that, as I fear a blow that sturdy would have thrown me to the ground.”

While she spoke, Loki looked around. This was not his bed, he did not have to see it to know that. His bed was probably the softest in all the palace, and the one beneath him now did not measure up to that high standard. The coverlet beneath his fingers was thick and warm, but not particularly sumptuous. The room was dim, cool and quiet, smelling softly of lavender and chamomile When he craned his neck a little, he could see that the area around the bed was partitioned off by a thick cream colored curtain.

Loki sighed. He was in the Healing Halls.

He looked up at Thor. “Let us review our last conversation, brother. I told you that I did not wish to see a healer, and that I did wish to sleep. So you brought me here, and woke me from a very pleasant dream in a most unpleasant fashion. Explain yourself, please.” He finished the last bit with the sort of snarl that had withered more than one seasoned warrior.

Thor did not even flinched. “You're sick, Loki. You slept for eighteen hours straight, and when I tried to wake you to make you eat, I couldn't. I carried you all the way here, and you didn't even stir!”

“You..you carried me?! Did anyone see you?” Loki struggled to sit up, and was rather surprised at how much effort that simple movement seemed to take. Exhaustion lay on him like a lead cloak, pressing him downward. 

Thor made an impatient gesture. “That does not matter, all that matters is that you get the care you need.”

“I agree,” said a very familiar female voice, and Loki looked up to see his mother slipping through the curtain. She held a fire warmed blanket, and it was only as she laid it over him that he realized he had been shivering. 

She smoothed back his hair with a warm hand. “How do you feel, my love?”

He felt awful. He was cold deep down in his bones, the sort of inescapable cold that sometimes comes of high fever. His whole body ached as though it were bruised. All he wanted to do was pull the covers up to his chin and slip back into sleep.

“Fine,” he said firmly. “I feel fine. May I go now, please?”

She smiled, and shook her head. “That was a good try, but I know better. Anyone can see by looking at you that you are not well. I am your mother, and I can see in your eyes that you are miserable.”

He felt his shoulders slump a little. “I am not at my best, perhaps, but I am merely tired. It has been a trying couple of days,” he added softly.

“With all due respect, my Prince, it has been a trying time for all of us, and only you are experiencing odd symptoms,” Eir said. “I think everyone would feel much easier if you would allow me to examine you.”

Loki looked from the healer's face to the faces of his family. Thor was scowling with concern, his brow furrowed. Frigga's expression was softer, but he could see worry in her eyes as well. He sighed.

“Very well, poke and prod me all you like.”

It was worth the trouble it would be to see Thor's face brighten, and to see his mother smile. 

Eir peered into his eyes and ears, and down his throat. Her hazel eyes took on a distant, opaque quality that meant she was using her own power to look past his skin, deep into the mysteries of blood and bone. Her quick, clever hands flitted over him, pressing sometime, sometimes just hovering a few inches above his skin. He preferred the hovering. Far too much of the pressing hurt. 

To distract himself, he tried to focus on the fascinating feeling of her magic brushing against his. He had a basic understanding of healing magic, and he could even work a little himself. Over the years he had learned to heal scrapes and bruises, to stop the flow of blood and to close gaping wounds. He would never be able to do the more advanced things that Eir could, like knitting broken bones together or strengthening a dying heart one fiber at a time.

But then Eir could not turn herself into a bird and take to the skies. We are all suited to out calling, he thought.

At last Eir straightened, and the fog cleared from her eyes. Her expression was unreadable. 

“There is just one more thing I must see. Preform a feat of magic for me, anything you like. Within the boundaries of decency,” she added hastily. 

He did the first and simplest thing that came to mind, summoning a ball of mage-fire. It was the first thing that any worker of magic learned, and it took little skill and almost no energy. Usually, anyway.

It proved to be a pathetic effort. The ball of green fire was a sickly, sputtering thing. Even more pathetic was the small sound of pain that escaped his lips. Pulling even the tiny amount of power required from his body had hurt, hurt horribly. Pain thrummed deep in his bones, not long lasting, but intense.

Beside him, his mother made a pained sound of her own. Thor gripped his hand and shot Eir a poisonous look. 

“You knew that would give him pain, didn't you? Isn't it bad enough that he's sick, without you making him hurt?”

Eir drew breath to reply, but Loki answered for her. “If she thought that you had broken your back, she would ask you to wiggle your fingers and toes, even though it might cause you pain. It would be the only way for her to tell how badly you were hurt.”

Eir's smile was warm. It, combined with her words and the approving tone of them, reminded him of his childhood, when she had been one of his many tutors. “That is exactly right. And now I have learned what I need to know, and I can leave you in peace.”

“I am sorry, Eir.” Thor answered softly. “It is just that it's...”

“Hard, I know, to see someone that you love suffer. But we are going to do everything for him that can be done. To start, Loki, I am going to send for something for you to eat.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to protest. “I know you are not hungry, but you must try to eat as much as you can.” Then she turned her attention to Frigga. “Might I have a word with you, my Queen?”

Loki relaxed on the pillows as his mother followed the healer out through the curtains. At least the prodding was over. Perhaps now he could sleep a little...

“Stay awake, Loki.” Thor said, warning in his tone.

“You live to torment me, don't you?”

“I don't want to torment you, I just want you to get well again. And you won't get any better if you don't eat.” He gave his brother a long, assessing look. “You've slept so long; how can you still be tired?”

Loki shrugged languidly. “I have ever been a lazy creature.”

“You know that's not what I mean.” Thor took his hand. It should have been irritating, but the touch warmed his cold fingers, and there was something so comforting about the familiar lines of flesh and bone. “I am worried about you. I've never seen you like this before.”

“I'll be alright.”

“So you keep saying.”

“And I am usually correct, am I not?”

“Most of the time.”

A servant arrived then with a bowl of rich beef and vegetable soup. Loki ate as much of it as he could stand, but he only managed to consume half of the bowl.

Thor was less than pleased by that, and he had also begun to fidget. He looked frequently toward the curtain. “What could Eir and mother be talking about for so long?”

Loki sank back on the pillows, yawning so hugely that his eyes watered. “It has not been that long. Eir is no doubt assuring Mother that I will live to see another day. I really don't know what you two are so upset about.”

“We couldn't wake you! And you were...” Thor fell abruptly silent.

Loki gave him a sharp look. “I was what?”

“You were talking in your sleep.”

“And how is that unusual? You've mocked me for talking in my sleep for as long as I can remember.”

“You were talking to Sif.”

Loki digested that information for a moment in silence. “What was I saying?”

I couldn't make out most of it, you were mumbling. But... I heard you say something about Valhalla. Storming into it to find her, I think.”

“Ah,” Loki said quietly. “I see.” 

“Then I tried to wake you, and I couldn't. I just panicked, I suppose.”

Loki squeezed his brother's hand a little. “There is no need for panic. I was only dreaming.”

“Do you remember the dream?”

“No, not really.” He closed his eyes for a moment and struggled to remember. “I just know that Sif was there, and it was warm and the sky was full of stars.” He felt his lips curve into a soft smile. “She was in my arms, I remember that. And I saw her smile.”

“I love you!” Thor blurted suddenly.

Loki opened his eyes. “I've grown to tolerate you fairly well.”

Thor's lips quirked up into a rueful smile. He shook his head. 

“Loki,” he said quietly. “I can't loose you. I've already lost Sif. I can't loose you, too.”

“You aren't going to loose me. I'm a little under the weather, that's all. I'll get well soon.”

“You have to. If you don't, I'll...I'll...”

“You'll what? Flatten me with Mjolnir? That seems counterproductive.”

That won a real smile from Thor. “No, I will build a bonfire with every book you own.”

“That is a very serious threat, indeed. Perhaps now that you have some leverage over me, I can be allowed to take a nap.”

“I wish you wouldn't.” Thor whispered.

“You know how to wake me, if need be. And I promise that I will try my best not to hit you again.”

He was silent for a long moment. “On one condition.”

“Anything,” Loki sighed.

“Let me stay with you.”

“That does not seem like too much of an imposition.” Loki stretched out on his side with a yawn, but he did not let go of Thor's hand. “Goodnight, Thor.”

“Sleep well,” Thor answered softly. “And wake well.”

 

“What did you find?” Frigga demanded as soon as she and the healer were out of Loki's earshot.

“Were your son and the Lady Sif...close?” Eir asked.

“Yes. Neither of them ever spoke of it to me, but I could see it. Is he just grieving her, as he says?”

“I am afraid it is not simple grief that ails him.” Eir reached out to take Frigga's hands, and held them tight. She was no longer a retainer speaking to her monarch, but one friend speaking to another. 

“Loki and Sif were bonded mates.”

All of the color drained from Frigga's face. “Oh no, no, that cannot be!”

“It is a common thing among the Jotun,” Eir said gently. She was one of the few people who knew the secret of Loki's birth; that he was not the child of Frigga's body, but instead a Jotun foundling.

“There must be something we can do to help him. This sort of thing happens often among your own people, does it not? What do the Elves do to treat a broken bond?”

Eir opened her mouth, closed it, and at last shrugged helplessly. “I will be honest with you. The healer that I apprenticed under used to say, where there is broken bond, all that you can do give what comfort you can, and wish them good journey.”

Frigga shook her head as tears began to fill her eyes. “There is some way to save him. Could we somehow remove his memories of her?”

“There are spells that would do that, but it would not be a permanent solution. I once knew of a woman who had lost her bonded mate, and who was under a spell of forgetfulness. She lived a year or two, but she was unwell the entire time, and it was as if all of the light was gone from her. Could you stand to see that happen to Loki?”

“No,” Frigga whispered. “What are we to do?”

“We will keep him as comfortable as we can. I will not let him suffer, if it is within my power to stop it.”

Frigga shuddered, and bowed her head as the tears began to fall. 

“My boy,” she whispered. “My poor boy.”


	5. Unpleasant Insinuations In The Dark

After she woke from her shared dream, Sif spent what felt like an eternity in silent darkness.

She took a couple of mouthfuls of water, and a bite of her provisions. She dozed a little, sitting up against the wall, and reached out to Loki in her sleep. Loki was not there to be reached.

That was good, she told herself. If he were awake, perhaps that meant he was feeling better. Maybe he had let the healers see to him, and they had managed to help. 

Or maybe he was too miserable to sleep. Maybe he was in pain.

Maybe he was already gone.

She shut those thoughts away behind a metal door in her head, and locked it tight.

She thought of fighting forms and of epic poems, of ancient kings and kinds of soup. But most of all she thought of how to escape.

She had nothing with which to pick the lock on her shackle, and it was much too tight to slip out of. Even if she had been able to get loose from the wall, she would still have to get past the thing lurking unseen in the dark. And even if she did that, she did not know what sort of climb she would have to make to get out of the pit.

Clearly she was hidden from Heimdall's sight here, or someone would already have come for her. She was completely on her own.

She was so deep in thought that when Lilith spoke, she jerked, making the chains give a loud discordant rattle.

“Good evening, my Lady! You did quite a good job of keeping quiet. And how did you find your true love when you walked in his dreams?”

Sif stiffened, but remained silent. She wished for another flash from the phosphorecent pool, for anything to relieve the inky darkness.

“Don't feel shy now, my dear. I did not actually watch your tender reunion. Not for lack of trying, though. One of you kept me from seeing into the dream. Oddly enough, I am not sure if it was him or you. You are simply full of surprises. But I don't have to see it to know what happened. You tried to tell him that you still live, but he did not believe you. After which I hope that he described to you his exhaustion, his pain, the growing feeling of sickness and misery in his failing flesh.”

A beat of silence passed. 

“I am Sif of Asgard.” Her voice was ice, laid over a core of seething flame. “And one way or another, I will be your death.”

“You really are quite fond of him, aren't you? No accounting for taste, I suppose.”

It was both useless and dangerous to try to bandy words with the thing, but Sif couldn't help it. Anything was better than the ear-crushing silence. 

“If what you say is true, I may see what you have against Loki, but what have I ever done to you?”

“Hmm, that is a complicated question. Mostly you are a tool with which to wound him. But, it should be noted that you killed several of my children.”

“What?! I have killed no children!”

“The creatures in the cavern above. They were mine.”

Sif felt her stomach lurch. “You gave birth to those things?”

“Don't be rude,” Lilith said mildly. “They were beautiful. All of my children are beautiful. People like you are simply unable to appreciate their splendor for the same reason that mice do not see the beauty in cats.”

“What was their father?” Sif was sorry she had asked the minute the words escaped her lips.

“A shepard who followed a lost sheep into the cave.”

Sif felt her eyes go round. “You mean he was a...a person?”

“You are such a rude child! I take your insinuation that I am not a person. But yes, the father was humanoid.”

She knew she was not going to like the answer, but she had to ask. “What happened to him?”

“He has gone now, gone to nourish the lives that he helped to create.”

“Oh no, you don't mean that you...”

“Yes, I fed him to my children. I had a little, myself. He was so tasty,” Lilith said with a wistful little sigh.

Sif let her head drop into her hands.

“It is not nearly as bad as it sounds, I assure you. He was already done for, long before we began imbibing. Even when I could still assume my human form, a man would find intimacy with me to be … taxing, shall we say? As I am now, it was not something that he could survive. He died, and it only made sense to use every part of him to the fullest.”

“Speaking of such things, have you any children, Lady Sif?”

“That is none of your bussiness.”

“Mmm, that is what I thought you would say, but I know that you do not. You are very young yet, by the reckoning of your people. Young and strong, and so full of life.” Her voice dropped, turning to a thing of smoke and velvet. “I will fill you with even more life, with more than your Loki or any other man could ever give you.”

Sif heard a tiny choked sound, and it took a moment to realize it had come from her own throat.

“You see, my lady,” Lilith continued. “I am both succubus and incubus. Normally I prefer to be the chalice rather than the sword, but I am willing to create life, no matter what role I must take. As soon as Loki is dead, I will fill you with my seed, and I will watch children grow inside you that will be just as glorious as the ones that you took from me. More so, in fact, for their father was naught but a mortal laborer. You, you, are a child of golden Asgard with immortal blood in your veins, and a warrior's heart in your breast. Oh, how splendid will our babes be!”

“You asked me what I have against you, and truly, the answer is nothing. I respect your strength, despit your poor choice of mate. I will show that respect by sacrificing you upon the alter of new life.”

Sif managed to find her voice, despite the bitter roil of bile at the back of her throat. “I will not go meekly, like a lamb to the slaughter. I will kill you before I let you touch me. And even if you should suceed in defiling me, my body will poison your rotten little horrors before they can become more than a vile spark of life.”

“Oh, my dear, my dear!” Lilith practically tittered with delight. “How I hope your beloved shuffles off this mortal coil quickly, so that I may have my way with you! That fire of yours is just what appeals to me. And as far as your body goes, you are like a field rich with years of lying fallow, newly plowed and ready to accpet whatever seed wishes to take root in it. Your flesh can no more refuse my young ones than the earth can refuse to nourish new growth in the spring.”

Sif pulled her knees to her chest, and tucked her chin on top of them. She knew that it looked like the weak, pathetic gesture that it was, but she couldn't manage to care.

“My Loki is strong. He will hold on until I escape from this place and return to him. And the only children that I will ever bring into this world will be his.” 

“Believe the future to be whatever brings you comfort, little warrior. Time will tell.”

“Yes,” Sif said. “Time will tell.”


	6. Acceptance or Denial

Loki was fairly sure now that he must be dying.

Even if he had not been able to feel it within his own body, he would have been able to see it in the faces around him.

He had dozed for a little while, but his sleep was thin and uncomfortable. There had been no more dreams featuring Sif, either.

When he woke, everyone around him was wreathed in smiles, smiles as bright and shiny and lifelike as a bouquet of plastic flowers. 

Thor was unnaturally quiet, and his eyes were freshly red-rimmed. Whenever Loki looked directly at him, he was wearing a sparkling grin. If he looked at Thor out of the corner of his eye, or turned his head suddenly, he found him staring straight ahead with an expression of dazed horror.

Thor was clearly distraught and making a valiant (though somewhat ineffective) effort to hide it, but it was really his mother that gave the game away. She was elegant and composed, just as she had been every day of his life, and her smile was warm, her gaze full of affection, as always. But her eyes were red-rimmed, too. Never before had Loki seen his mother cry.

Eir, too, was full of plasticine glee. 

“You were right my Prince,” she said, voice brimming with cheer. “It seems that you are indeed suffering from exhaustion, compounded by catching cold after yesterday's walk in the rain. A few day's rest will set you to rights.”

“Just as I thought,” Loki replied smoothly, with a winning smile of his own. If this was the game they wanted to play, he would play it with them for as long as he was able. It was the least he could do. 

“That being the case,” Eir continued. “Would you like to go back to your own rooms? I can see to you there just as well, and I know you have never been overly fond of the Healing Halls.”

“Indeed, I would like that.” Loki sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Then he had to close his eyes for a moment and wait for the room to stop dipping and spinning.

Thor laid a hand on his shoulder. “I can carry you, if you are too weary,” he said gently.

Loki did not say a word, but the look on his face made Thor raise both hands in surrender, and back away.

He made it back to his chambers unassisted, but it was an act of sheer, stubborn will. By the time he reached his bed, he was trembling from head to foot, and his vision was graying at the edges. He sank back on the pillows while Frigga and Thor rushed around the room, fetching extra blankets and pillows, and stoking the fire.

He watched as Eir set a neat line of stoppered medicine bottles on the bedside table. Reading the labels, all he saw were palliatives, nothing curative.

His mother tucked the covers over him, and leaned down to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose, just as she had done every night of his childhood.

“Would you mind if I stayed with you for a little while?” 

“Of course I would not mind.” 

She pulled a chair up to his bedside, and took his hand in hers. “Loki, you must promise me that you will speak up if you are uncomfortable in any way.”

“I will, Mother.”

Thor had taken a seat on the other side of the great bed. He seemed to be acres away. 

Without pausing to consider his reasoning, Loki held out a hand to his brother. 

“You can come closer, if you like.”

Thor looked for just a moment as if he might burst into tears, but he regained his composure quickly. Silently he climbed into the bed and settled himself against the headboard at Loki's side. 

“I won't bother you by being here, will I?” 

“Oh, you will bother me, alright.” Loki gave Thor the sort of sly sideways glance that, accompanied with an acerbic comment, nearly always made him laugh. “If you are not plaguing me somehow I simply do not feel natural.”

Thor gave a soft chuckle. “I do want you to feel at ease.”

At the foot of the bed, Eir swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “Do you feel as though you'll be able to rest? I can give you something to help you sleep, if you would like.”

“No thank you, I think I shall sleep quite well. I wonder,” Loki said with the same kind of casual curiosity that he might use to inquire about the weather. “If perhaps my father might be persuaded to visit me.”

“I have told him that you aren't feeling well,” Frigga answered. “He said that he would come to see you, just as soon as he is able.”

There was a bit of a sting to that. What if it were Thor that lay dying, a poisonous little voice whispered in his head. How quickly would the Allfather race from his throne room to bring comfort to Thor's final hours?

Loki shoved the thought away. He was too tired to be angry, or to wallow in the old bitterness. 

“Good,” he whispered. 

This was really not so bad, he thought as his eyes fell shut and he began to drift. He had two of his four favorite people with him, and with any luck a third was waiting for him, beyond the wall of sleep.

 

Frigga watched as her youngest son slipped into sleep. When his hand relaxed in hers, she gently disentangled their fingers and rose. 

Thor threw her a lost, almost pleading look, and she felt her heart catch. She knew that Thor needed her, too, that he had lost one of his dearest friends already, and was watching the younger brother he loved fade away before his eyes. She longed to stay here, to comfort both of her children in their hour of need.

But she had to leave, for a little while at least. She was convinced that the secret to saving Loki's life existed, and she was going to scour the world to find it, if need be. Right now she planned to start in the library of the palace, where nearly every scrap of healing lore in the Nine Realms could be found.

Loki was not destined to die. She knew this not only with a mother's certainty, but with a Seer's. She had not seen his death in her weaving, and surely she would have. Though he was not the child of her body, he was the child of her heart. There was no way that her gift of prophesy would fail her so terribly, after all these years. If she had not foreseen his death, he was not destined to die.

Ah, but you did not see Sif's death, either, a treacherous part of herself whispered. Perhaps you are growing old. Perhaps your Sight is fading.

Frigga squared her shoulders, and held her head high. She might be old, but with age comes wisdom, and she had learned long ago that it is always wise to follow your instincts. Instinct told her that Loki was not lost to her, that there was still hope.

So, though she hated to go, she gave her oldest son a reassuring smile, and slipped silently out of the room.


	7. The Tower

That morning (or at least Lilith told her that it was morning, any light, sunlight in particular, was starting to sound like a myth) Sif lay awake for a long time, huddled on the cold stone floor.

Finally exhaustion won out over terror, and she fell asleep. Almost immediately she caught hold of Loki's dream. She slipped into it, and found herself in a very familiar place.

It was a tower in the oldest part of the palace, in one of the wings used primarily for storage.  
Sif and Loki had staked out this tower when they were children. They had dragged out the ancient furniture that filled it from wall to wall, cleared away the cobwebs, dusted the stone walls and scrubbed the floor. Then they had furnished it themselves with pilfered feather mattresses and cushions, rusty candelabras, torn silk hangings and faded tapestries. 

This was their secret place. Not even Thor knew of it. It was here one cold gray winter afternoon that Sif had leaned across the book that they were reading together and pressed her lips to his in their first awkward kiss. 

It was also here that he had lain her down in a nest of cushions and claimed her for his own. She had shed her virgin blood in this room while his cool, callused hands roamed over her skin as though he were blind, and he sought to learn the shape of her by touch alone. By then she had long been used to being treated like one of the boys; in the training yards she was just as beaten and battered as any of them. She had cried that night, and Loki had been horrified, thinking that he had hurt her. But she had cried because he was so gentle, because he handled her as though she were both precious and fragile. Eventually she had convinced him that he could be more rough with her, and sometimes that was what they both craved. But even now when he often flung her to the bed and held her so hard that there were finger shaped bruises on her skin the next morning, there were still times when he touched her with such reverence, such wonder, as if it were for the first time. And every time it happened, she thought of this room, lit by warm and flickering candlelight.

Of all of the golden and bejeweled chambers of the palace, this tower room was one of Sif's most favorite.

And at the moment it contained one of her most favorite people. 

Loki was sitting on one of the mattresses that were strewn across the floor, cushions piled at his back. A book was open on his lap.

Sif did not pause, nor did she speak. She simply dove at him and threw her arms around him, heedless of the hard corner of the book digging into her hip. 

He flung the book aside and hugged her tight. 

“What is the matter?” he asked, sounding both worried and puzzled.

Sif gave a laugh with a definite hysterical edge to it. “Oh, let me see; you're dying by inches, everyone I have ever loved thinks me dead, and I am trapped in a pit with a beast that plans to rape me, fill me with a litter of monsters, and then feed me to them. I have had better days.”

Loki shuddered, and she raised her head to study him.

He looked worse than ever. His face was deathly pale, and the delicate skin beneath his eyes was plum colored. His eyes themselves were wide and dark.

“Perhaps people are right to think me not altogether sane,” he said. “I understand why my mind would conjure a story in which you are still alive, but as for the other...” he shook his head.

Sif let her forehead drop back to his shoulder with a groan. “You need not fear for your sanity, for that reason, anyway. You have not made any of this up. Though I doubt I will have any luck convincing you of that.”

“You will not.” His arms tightened around her. “I am glad to see you, though, even if you are a figment of my imagination.” The last few words were soft, but full of misery.

Sif reached up to stroke his cheek. “How do you feel?”

“Tired. Tired down to the marrow of my bones.”

She thought of Lilith's taunt. “Are you in pain?” 

“Do you remember that time that a wyvren picked me up and dropped me, and I rolled halfway down the mountain?”

“You really think that I could forget that?” She still had nightmares about it, from time to time. “What about it?”

“I feel like I did after that.”

“Oh Loki,” she whispered. “You must tell Eir that you hurt. Surely she can give you something that will make it better.”

He shrugged. “It's bearable, for the moment. I would rather not let anyone know about it, just now. Mother and Thor are already looking at me as though I'm a three-legged kitten.”

“Then they know that you're sick?”

“They know that I'm dying. They aren't speaking of it, but I can tell that they know. I suspect they think I won't know if they don't tell me.” A faint, bitter smile curled his lips. “As if I cannot feel it myself. Utter foolishness.”

“They probably just don't want you to give up hope.” 

“Oh, it is much too late for that. I gave up hope the moment I realized that you were gone.”

She snuggled closer to him, relishing the feeling of his heart beating strong and sure against hers. “I wish you would stop saying such things. Imagine if you were in my place, and I kept telling you cheerfully that I was dying of a broken heart without you. How would you feel?”

“Horrible. But you are not real, so your feelings don't concern me much. My true Sif has gone to her reward, and knows nothing of any of this. She might be angry when I turn up on her doorstep, but that won't last long. She could never stay angry at me.”

That was true, and try though she might, she couldn't be angry with him now. She just sighed, and shook her head.

“You will feel quite foolish when I come home to you, you know.” What she wanted more than anything was to lie quietly in his arms until one of them was forced to wake, but if she ever wished to see him in the flesh again, she needed to know as much as she could about the enemy she faced. 

“Tell me about Lilith,” she said.

Loki shifted in her arms and made a sound of disapproval. “Must we?”

“I am afraid we must.”

“What do you want to know?” 

“Why is she so intent upon making you suffer? What did you do to her?”

“Mmm, that is a good tale.” 

She recognized the sly pride in his voice. Clearly there was some truth in what Lilith had said. 

“Then tell me.”

“I will do better than that. I will show you.” He waved a hand, and the room around them dissolved, to be replaced by the shadows of Loki's bedchamber, deep in the silence of the night. He was lying in his bed, fast asleep. As Sif watched, a cloud of shimmering silver fog slipped through the tiny gap between the panels of the glass door that led to the balcony.

The strange twinkling cloud drifted to the foot of the bed. There it shifted and changed, and then a tall, willowy woman stood in its stead.

Her skin was fine and white as porcelain. A curtain of wheat colored hair fell straight as rain to her hips. She wore a gown the color of moonlight on snow, and it rippled like falling water over every sharp plane and ripe curve of her body.

In the darkness, the woman seemed to glow softly, like an alabaster lamp. Her beauty was cold and alien, and utterly irresistible. Sif imagined that if a star were to fall to earth and take human form, this was what it would look like.

The woman glided toward the head of the bed with all of the perfect grace and quiet menace of a stalking leopard. She leaned over the sleeper in the bed and exhaled. Her breath fogged the air as though the room were ice cold. Loki inhaled the fog, and his already relaxed body went even more limp, as though he slipped from natural sleep into something deeper.

The woman stared down at him with a feral smile and a predatory gleam in her ice blue eyes. She ran one long vermillion nail down the vulnerable white line of his throat, and then she slid into the bed. She straddled him, her hands moving to the buttons that fastened his nightshirt.

Quick as a cobra, he grasped her wrists and held them fast. His eyes snapped open, and they were bright and alert.

“Hello, Lilith,” he said.

She smiled, and it seemed that her teeth were too numerous and too sharp. “Ah, I see that my reputation proceeds me!”

“Indeed it does. May I ask what you are doing here at this advanced hour?”

Lilith wriggled her wrists from his grasp and sank back on her haunches. 

“I have long been an admirer of yours. I just thought that it was time we met.”

“And do you always employ the Breath of Impenetrable Sleep when you meet new people?”

She gave him a coquettish look from beneath her lashes. “I am rather shy.”

“I see. Well, it was lovely meeting you. Pardon me if I don't rise to show you out.”

“Oh, there is no need for me to leave so soon. The night is young, after all.” She shifted her hips a little, and Loki's eyes widened slightly.

“Lilith, I really am not in the mood for...entertaining. Please remove yourself.”

She did not stir. “I had not expected you to be so prudish, Loki Silvertongue. I had heard that you were skilled in the art of love.”

He grabbed her by the waist and picked her up, depositing her on her feet beside the bed. “If I recall my Midgardian folklore, it is not love you seek, or even pleasure. You simply desire my seed to fill your belly with a litter of demons.”

Lilith sniffed, and smoothed her shimmering skirts. “How indelicate of you. Children may be what I desire most, but that does not mean that I cannot give you pleasure.

“ I also hear that the 'pleasure' you offer is not at all salubrious to my health.”

She waved the words away with a negligent flip of her hand. “You are young and full of energy. A few days of rest will restore your strength.”

“Alas, I am very busy, and do not have a few days to spare.”

He gestured toward the balcony doors, and they flew open. “Feel free to leave the way you came in.”

Lilith gave him a long, considering look, her eyes narrowing. “What ails you?” she demanded. “Are you not a lover of women? I can take a male shape, if that is what you need.”

Loki shook his head, caught between anger and laughter. “Oh no, women suite me very well, one woman in particular. Even if I were of a mind to betray her, it would not be with you.”

“She need never know, if that is what troubles you. There is nothing that need worry you.” Lilith's voice became a soft, lulling monotone. Her winter-sky blue eyes began to glow in the darkness.

“It is late, I know, and you must be so very weary. You should relax, my dear. Just lie back, and rest, and let me tend to you.”

Loki blinked up at her, looking dazed. She took his hands in hers, and he did not resist. Her thumbs stroked her wrists rhythmically. 

“That's right, just let go of all your worries, and surrender to me.” Her voice dropped even more, reaching a timbre that vibrated through the marrow of one's bones. “You are beautiful and powerful, and so will our children be...” She leaned down just as his eyes fluttered shut. 

One second she was bending over him, unholy light suffusing her face, and the next she was pinned flat to the ceiling. She let out a piercing shriek and struggled like a spider pinned to a pressboard.

Loki folded his hands behind his head, and grinned up at her.

“Let me down!” she cried.

“Certainly.” A flick of his wrist sent her sliding across the ceiling and down the wall opposite the bed, until her feet touched the floor. She was still pinned, her golden hair spread like a nimbus around her head. Her eyes flashed fire, her face contorted in fury.

“Now then!” Loki said cheerfully, rising from the bed and coming to stand in front of her. “Shall you leave under your own power, or shall I banish you to a place of my own choosing?”

“Banish me if you like, but I will return.” He lips twisted into the ugly parody of a smile. “Next time I think I will go to your brother instead. He is not so picky as you, I am willing to wager. I will fill my womb with his seed and my body with his strength. I will leave him an empty husk that all of your magic will not be able to mend. And then perhaps I will seek out this woman to whom you are so loyal, and oh, the things I will do to her...”

Rage filled his face so suddenly and so fully that Lilith's eyes barely had time to register a flash of fear before he strode up to her and took one of her ears in each of his hands. She squeaked in pain and shock.

He spoke a word of power that made the air in the room thrum like a plucked harp string And then he pulled.

There was a sound like a wet sheet being ripped in two, and then Lilith's skin was hanging from his hands in one empty, dripping piece. 

She did not make a sound, other than the clacking of her bared teeth. Her eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. For a moment she was a thing of bright red twitching muscle, but then her form began to change, paling and bloating. Before the transformation to her true form was complete, she winked out of existence.

Loki cursed bitterly and gave the skin in his hands a sharp shake. It vanished in a flash of green flame, and he headed for the bath chamber, muttering about stains on his new rug.

The vision faded, and Sif found herself back in the cozy tower room, blinking in a wash of sunlight. She turned to Loki, who was smiling at her serenely. 

“You never thought to tell me about that?”

“You never asked.”

Sif rubbed at her aching temples. “Why didn't you just kill her?”

“I don't know how.”

She felt every atom in her body go still. “What?”

“She cannot be slain by water, by fire, by stone, by wood, by tempered steel, by poison, by mortal hand, or by curse. I am not quite certain what that leaves, and I surely could not come up with something on such short notice.”

“But...you've found a way since then, haven't you?”

He leaned back against the cushions with a yawn. “I have not devoted much study to it. She never came back to trouble me, and with her human seeming gone, I think her seducing days are behind her. I doubt she will be troubling anyone else, either.”

“She is doing a fine job of tormenting me!” Despair was beginning to fall over her like a cold rain. “How am I supposed to find a way to kill her without a weapon to my name at the bottom of a pit, when you could not do it in the heart of Asgard?” 

Her voice shook. “I am afraid, Loki. I am so afraid.”

He cupped her cheek with a cool hand. “You are safe, here and now.”

“Until night falls, and I wake, and Lilith wakes.” She began to tremble, and the tremor seemed to start at the marrow of her bones and move outward. “That thing will violate me, destroy me, and you will be lost because I am.” She looked up into his eyes, the eyes that she had gazed into with love since both of them were children. They were dark now with pain and exhaustion, and she felt a pain of her own.

So this is what it feels like when your heart breaks, she thought.

“You'll find me, won't you?” she said in a small voice that sounded nothing like her own. “In the Halls of the Fallen. You won't leave me there alone.” Her lips twitched up into a shaky smile even as she felt tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. “I think after all this time I am still afraid of the dark.”

She watched as answering tears welled in his eyes, magnifying their green like a prism until they shone with the fire at the heart of an emerald. 

“Do you remember the first magic that I ever worked?” His thumbs brushed against her cheekbones, wiping away her tears. “I created a ball of mage fire, and gave it to you for a nightlight. Sif, my Sif, there is nowhere that you could go that I would not follow.”

His lips met hers, warm and sweet, and she closed her eyes. Against her eyelids she saw again the soft green glow of that nightlight that he had gifted to her so long ago, the first spell-craft he had ever conjured. She could feel it's warmth on her face, so like the warmth of his hand as it rested against her cheek.

“Wait for me just a little longer,” he whispered. “I am coming as fast as I can.”


	8. The Inevitable

Once, long ago, Loki had brought a man from Midgard to stay at the palace. Sif thought he had said he was from a place called Wales, but Midgardian geography had never been her specialty. 

He was a tall, spare man with a gaunt, solemn face, a long white beard, and the twinkling pale blue eyes of a child. 

Like most of the people that Loki sought out in far flung places, this man was a worker of magic and a holder of ancient wisdom. Sif had liked him. He reminded her of Loki; full of power, wisdom and humor in equal measure. One thing that he said often had remained with her.

Never fear the inevitable.

Sif liked that. It made sense. If you could learn to identify the things in life that were inevitable, and you could learn not to fear those things, you could escape so much worry, so much futile suffering. She thought she had gotten quite good at both parts of the equation, over the years. 

So now she lay on the cold stone floor at the bottom of a pit, watching the soft incandescent flutter of blind cave fish stirring the phosphorescent pool, and she did her best not to be afraid of what was to come.

As fear began to fade a little, sadness flowed in to fill the vacuum. There were so many things left undone, unseen, unknown. She wished that she could say goodbye to the people she loved. Her parents, Thor and Frigga, the Warriors Three. 

At least she did not need to say goodbye to Loki. They would not be parted long.

She tried to look at what lay before her as a journey. It would not be easy, but there would be peace waiting for her at its end.

And he would be waiting for her. The other half of her heart.

When she heard the now familiar rustling in the shadows, she spoke. “I am ready.”

“Ready? Ready for what?”

“For you to... do what you wish. To kill me. Do it now, and I swear I will not try to stop you.”

“I see! And to what do I owe this most sudden and intriguing fit of suicidal ideation?”

“Loki is... he does not have much time left. I am ready to go now, so that I will be there when he comes.”

“Fascinating. Where is 'there' precisely? If I understand things (and I usually do) you will die valiantly at the hand of your enemy, and then your soul will away to Valhalla. Loki, not having died a warrior's death, will go to a hall that is pleasant enough, but far less exalted. What makes you think the two of you will even meet, beyond the Veil?”

“He will find me,” Sif said with certainty ringing in her voice. Either he will find a way into Valhalla, or he will bring me to him.”

“So you would willingly give up your seat in the Hall of Heros just to stay near the one you love? That is either beautiful, or extremely trite.”

Sif's mouth twisted into something like a smile. “Oh, it's trite. But then again, it is self-serving as well. I have always found him more entertaining than all of the mead and war stories in the world.”

“I see. Well, I suppose that I might be able to grant your request, in part. I was not planing to begin the process until after Loki was cold in his grave, but I must admit, I too am eager to proceed. You do understand that you will not die at once, yes?”

“Yes, I gathered that.” Never fear the inevitable, never fear the inevitable, never fear the inevitable... “How long will it take?”

“Oh, anywhere from a few days to an entire week. It depends on many factors. But the moment my young take root inside you, they begin to sap your strength, and you will sleep a great deal. The time will pass quickly for you, that I can assure you.”

Sif lifted her head, squared her shoulders. “Very well. Do what you wish.”

“Slow down, child! I am not ready yet. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day. I am waiting for a certain confluence of the stars, one that is salubrious for new beginnings. You can wait a day or two.”

She did not want to wait a day or two, she did not want to wait another second, but she bowed her head in acquiescence. There was not use arguing.

Wait for me, her heart whispered. Hold on just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, I decided to rearrange the placement of a chapter (I am moving it from where it was in the first draft) and I really had to think hard and it is very painful, so I slowed down a bit. But have no fear, more is forthcoming! And bless any and all of you out there who are looking forward to it!


	9. The Parting Glass

By now, word had traveled through the palace. The whole court knew that the youngest prince was dying, and why.

Thor had not circulated among them to learn what they thought of it. Several people sent to say that they wished to see him, but he sent them all away.

Then a page came to him, bearing a message from the Warriors Three asking to see him, and for the first time in days he left Loki's rooms to see them. 

They mobbed him the second that he stepped into the hall. 

“Is it true?” Fandral demanded.

“It can't be true, can it?!” Volstagg asked, eyes wide.

Hogun said nothing, but he looked even more grim than usual.

“Yes,” Thor said, the word sounding as heavy as he felt. “It is true.”

“Then we must see him,” Hogun said quietly.

“Yes!” The other two chimed as one.

Thor had always held all of them dear. Aside from Loki and Sif, they were his best friends and most constant companions. Now he felt a welling of affection for them that tightened his throat and stung his eyes. 

“Yes, of course you should! Right now! There are just two rules. First, you must not mention Sif. And second, you must not speak of … how ill he is.”

Fandral and Hogun shared a glance. 

“Surely he knows, doesn't he?” Fandral asked tentatively.

“No, and he must not be told. Even now Mother and Eir and the other healers are working together to find a way to heal him. We must keep his spirits up until they can. He must not loose hope.”

“Very well, Thor, we will all mind the rules,” Volstagg said firmly. “May we see him now?”

And that was how his three friends came to be standing at the foot of Loki's bed.

When they had entered and seen Loki for the first time in days, they had all looked appalled in varying degrees. Hogun's face barely rippled. Fandral looked horrified, but he quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression. Volstagg still looked as though he were seeing a dead puppy.

Loki was propped up against a small mountain of pillows, hands folded in his lap, polite smile fixed on his face. Despite his ill looks, he was every bit the gracious host. 

“To what do I owe this unlooked for pleasure?” he asked cheerfully.

Fandral cleared his throat. “We had heard that you... that you weren't feeling well. We thought that we would visit. To cheer you. Isn't that right, Volstagg?”

Volstagg did not reply. He continued his stricken staring.

“Well, ah, yes!” Fandral continued. “How are you?”

Loki flashed a smile much larger and more full of sunshine than any of his genuine smiles. “I am feeling much better, thank you.”

Volstagg made a small sound of distress, and launched himself onto the bed.

Thor had one brief glimpse of his brother's shocked face before Volstagg enveloped him in a crushing bear hug.

Thor had often found that hugging Loki was like picking up a cat that was fond of you, but not fond of being held. He would indulge you for a moment or two, and then the squirming would begin. 

It was not so now. Loki returned Volstagg's embrace, even resting his head wearily on his old friend's shoulder.

It went on for longer than Thor would have thought possible. At last Loki stirred a little.

“This is very nice,” he said in a slightly muffled voice. “But if it goes on much longer, I shall run out of air.”

“Of course, I'm sorry.” Volstagg drew back, mumbling. When he did it was clear that there were tears on his cheeks. 

“Oh, Volstagg.” Loki chided, his voice warm. “What is all this?”

“It's just that I...I hate to see you ill, that's all.”

“We all hate it.” Fandral said quietly.

“Sif would hate it, too.” Hogun added.

Thor shot him a warning look, but Loki did not seem at all upset. He simply gave Hogun a tired smile.

“I know that she would. But I think she would understand that certain things are inevitable.”

“She would understand,” Hogun agreed. “Though it would break her heart, all the same.”

“Yes, I think that it would. Perhaps it is best that she is not here to see it.”

Fandral swallowed with an audible click. “You look tired. We should go and let you rest.”

“I am rather weary,” Loki admitted. He looked at them each in turn, and this time his smile was genuine. “Thank you, all of you, for coming to see me. It was most kind of you to take the trouble.”

“It is no trouble, Loki,” Volstagg said. “You are our friend.”

“We have had some fine times together, have we not?”

“Of course we have! The sort of times that bards sing of, through all the Nine Realms! And we will have more, when you are well again.”

“When I am well again.” The look in Loki's eyes was soft and far away.

“Yes, and it will be so, very soon, but if you are to get well, you must have your rest. We will see you later.”

“Goodbye, my friends.” Loki said softly.

 

Thor walked them back out into the hall. For a moment they all stood together in silence.

“He does not seem as though he's in pain,” Hogun said at last.

Thor sighed and rubbed at the ache that had settled at the back of his neck. “No, but you know him. You can never tell.”

“He's cold as ice to the touch.” Volstagg shuddered, remembering. “I thought I could warm him a little, but...”

“Nothing seems to. He says that it doesn't bother him, but I don't see how it couldn't.”

Fandral shook his head. “Poor Loki. It never occurred to me that he would not outlive all of us. I rather imagined that someday the four of us would die doing something truly stupid that both Sif and Loki had told us was a bad idea.”

“Sif and Loki,” Volstagg shook his own head. “To think that they had been together for all of this time, and none of us ever knew.”

“I knew,” Hogun said.

Three pairs of eyes swung his direction. 

“How?!” Thor demanded.

“Sometimes when they thought that no one was paying attention, they used to look at each other the way that Volstagg looks at a plate of mutton.”

That made Thor smile, the muscles involved feeling stiff with disuse. Fandral, however, was scowling.

“You never thought to mention this to the rest of us?”

Hogun shrugged. “I supposed that if they meant anyone to know, they would have told us themselves.”

“I quite agree.” Thor straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall. “I should go back. He seems to crave my company. That alone speaks to the fact that he is unwell.”

Volstagg laid a hand on his arm. “If there is anything that I or any of us can do for Loki, or for you, you have only to ask.”

Thor's throat was too tight to allow for an answer, so he simply clasped Volstagg by the forearm and took his leave.

When he returned to the bedroom, Loki had resettled the pillows and was lying stretched out on his side, facing the the windows that lined the opposite wall.

There was not much to see. The usually stunning view of the gardens sloping in terraces down to the sea was obscurred by misty gray sheets of rain.

It had been raining off and on since the day of Sif's funeral. There had been no more sky shattering bolts of lightning or ground shaking thunder, just gray skies and falls of tear-like rain.

Thor could still feel the lightening and thunder just beneath the surface. It would return if Loki's longboat were to take to the waves...

He dropped that thought the way that he would drop a match that burned too close to his fingers. It was not quite quick enough, though. One peal of thunder shook the floor beneath his feet, and a bolt of lightning gold as a new minted coin sizzled through the soft rain.

Loki turned to look at Thor over his shoulder, one eybrow quirked. 

“Distressed, are we?”

Thor shrugged, and dropped into a chair beside the bed. Loki rolled onto his back, and gave Thor a look that he could not read.

“I truly wonder,” Loki said thoughtfully, “Why you are so upset at the prospect of my death. I have never been particularly kind to you.”

Thor felt his eyes going round as saucers. “You are not dying! And what are you talking about? You have always been kind to me!”

“Thor,” Loki sighed. This was a trick of his, saying his brother's name in a tone that somehow dripped scorn and affection at the same time. “I am not stupid, you know. Do you really think that I could fail to notice my own decline? As for the other, must I really list all of the evil things that I have ever done to you? Let me see,” he began ticking points off on his fingers. “I have mocked you ceaselessly, often in public. When we were children more than once I perpetrated some sort of wickedness and blamed it on you. Nearly every malicious prank I have ever played on anyone I tested on you first. None of that qualifies as kind, unless I greatly misunderstand the word.”

Thor was shaking his head before Loki had even finished speaking. “I've done my share of mocking, and you were blamed far more often for MY sins. As for the pranks, well, that is simply who you are. None of them injured me much.”

“Did you enjoy your time as a hamster, Thor?”

“You fed me and rescued me from the cat. It wasn't that bad.”

Loki shook his head and chuckled. “I think that you have just proven that your standards are abysmally low.” He tugged the covers up to his chin and closed his eyes. “Hush now, and let me sleep.”

“I will not! Not until I make you see reason!” Thor flung the covers back and held them, ignoring Loki's cry of shocked protest. 

“I would never have been able to satisfy any of our tutors, without your help.”

“I was weary of hearing them complain.” Loki made a grab for the covers, and Thor let him have them, mostly because his teeth were starting to chatter.

“You have offered me a listening ear and advice whenever I was troubled, always.”

“I suppose that is true, though my advice is always highly suspect.”

“You have gone on a million quests and hunts that you could have done without, both to please me and to keep me out of trouble.”

Loki sighed, and gave Thor the sort of look that he did not often see from his brother. It was open, unguarded, no spark of mischief or calculation to be found.

“I could never allow harm to come to you, if I could prevent it,” he said.

Thor sank back in the chair, feeling as though he had won. “And what is that, but kindness?”

Loki's lips quirked. “No. It is nothing but self-interest. I have seen to your welfare because I prefer my life with you in it.”

Thor was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, despite his best efforts, his voice shook a little.

“I prefer my life with you in it.”

“I know,” Loki said softly. “Though as I said, I am not sure why.”

“Because you're YOU, you idiot! How can someone as learned and as clever as you are keep asking me such a stupid question?!”

Thor regretted his outburst almost as soon as it was over. Shouting did not usually work on his brother. Normally it just stoked his ire.

He expected Loki to shout back, or subside into stony silence, but instead he smiled. It was a pure, sweet smile that made him look heartbreakingly young.

“I love you, too,” he said. “And I will miss you when I am gone.”

That was simply too much. Thor burst into tears.

He leaned forward to rest his arms on the bed beside Loki, and buried his face in them as sobs shook his entire body.

Loki remained silent. He rested a hand on Thor's hair, and after a while he began to pet gently.

Finally his sobs faded to gasps. His mind felt scoured and empty. He just rested for a moment, lulled by the feeling of Loki's hand on his hair.

“Feeling better?” Loki asked softly. 

“Yes.” Thor straightened and wiped at his face. He felt an immediate stab of guilt when he saw how exhausted his brother looked.

“I am so sorry.” Thor said miserably.

“What do you have to be sorry about? Should I be offended that you're fond of me?”

“No, but you're so tired, you should be resting instead of listening to me weep and wail. And I should be comforting you, not the other way around.”

“There is something that you could do that would comfort me greatly.”

“Anything! Name it and it will be done.”

Loki reached for Thor's hand. “I want you to promise me that you will be careful, and that you will see that Volstagg, Fandral and Hogun are, as well. You'll not have me to scheme or wheedle or magic you out of trouble, so you must take care. I will not be pleased if you all die doing something stupid that Sif and I would have told you was a bad idea.”

Thor's eyebrows shot up. 

Loki shrugged. “When have you ever known me not to eavesdrop?”

Thor shook his head. “We will never do the things that we used to, not without Sif. Not without you.”

“Don't say that. You will have fine times again, eventually. Just promise me that you will not get yourselves killed. I would like a little time alone with my lady before the four of you stumble in and ruin the mood.”

Thor gave a soft huff of laughter. “Oh, alright. I promise you I will be careful, and that I will watch over the others. But only if you promise to do something for me.”

Loki looked pained. “Really? If you wish me to spin straw into gold or something of that nature, you will have to bring the raw materials here.”

“It's nothing like that. I just … I want you to give my love to Sif when you see her. And tell her how much she will be missed.”

Loki smiled, and squeezed his brother's hand. “That I can do.” he said.


	10. Midnight Confessions

Loki woke coughing. He scrabbled into a sitting position, and for a moment all he saw was small red starbursts of pain against the darkness of his closed eyes. The coppery-salty taste of blood filled his mouth.

He felt a strong arm around his shoulders, and he slumped back against it when the fit was over, gasping for breath. His head rested wearily on the shoulder the arm belonged to, and he thought briefly that it would really be rather pleasant to fall asleep again with Thor's arm around him. Then he thought of Thor, both how much that uncharacteristic desire to snuggle would quietly horrify him, and about how uncomfortable it would be for him to have to sit like that for the rest of the (Day? Evening? Time was starting to melt together in a most unsettling way) with an armful of glacially cold sibling.

At last he dragged his eyes open, and the first thing that he saw was an eyepatch. 

He drew back instinctively. It was quite alright to cough all over Thor, but one simply did not do such things to the Allfather.

Odin was looking at him with an something like horror shimmering in his one good eye. Without a word, he turned and began pouring a glass of water from the bedside carafe. He added a few drops from one of Eir's bottles to it.

“I don't need that,” Loki protested automatically as he watched the ruby red drops of Eir's pain potion swirl through the water, turning it pink.

His father shot him a look that was somewhere between amusement and pity. “You needn't bother trying to lie, Loki. You've been moaning in your sleep.”

“Oh.” So that game was up. He accepted the glass without further argument, and downed its contents. The taste of bitter herbs and honey filled his mouth, and when he swallowed warmth filled his body from the belly out, as though he had swallowed a sunbeam. The ache in his bones lessened, and his still ragged breathing eased. 

“Is that better?” Odin was peering at him, a worried scowl on his weathered face.

Loki had never seen his father look like that before, had never seen him so visibly upset. 

“Yes! Yes, I feel much better.” 

“Good, that is good.” Odin swallowed hard, and forced a smile. “I am so glad you finally woke. I wanted to wake you and make you drink it earlier, but I called your name a few times and it did no good. I was afraid to shake you without knowing where you hurt.”

Loki just looked at his father for a moment, wondering when they had last been this close to each other. He was used to seeing Odin at a distance, across the throne room, or the banquet table, or the great marble topped desk in his study. 

He had childhood memories of running up to his father after he had just returned from an errand of state. He could remember being snatched up into arms that smelled of leather and metal and horses, and being squeezed tight while his father's booming laugh rang out. He felt again the rush of a child's perfect contentment. 

“I am glad that you are here,” Loki said.

“I am glad, too.” Odin's replied. “There is nowhere else I would rather be.”

Loki felt a smile spread across his face, a big shiny grin much like the one the little boy in his memory had worn. “Truly?”

“Truly. Is there anything that I can get for you? Are you hungry, perhaps?”

“No, thank you, there is nothing that I need.” Night had fallen while he slept. He should be hungry, but the idea of food turned his stomach. 

He glanced around, and saw that they were alone. “Where are Mother and Thor?”

“Thor is asleep on the couch in the sitting room, and your mother is in the Healing Halls with Eir. Would you like me to fetch them?”

“No, I am pleased that Thor is getting some rest. I wish that Mother would.”

Odin sighed. “I wish that she would, too.”

“You should probably be in bed yourself.”

“You must not worry about that. There will be time later for sleep.”

Loki looked up into his father's eye and smiled. “Yes. There will be plenty of time, when I am gone.”

Odin was silent for a long time. For a moment Loki could not read his expression. Then he realized with astonishment that there were tears welling in his father's eye, and his throat was working as if he struggled to hold back his emotion.

“Your mother told me that you didn't realize how ill you were, and I wanted so much to believe that, though I knew very well that it could not be true.You have always been far too clever for your own good.” He shook his head. “My house will be so much less without you in it, Loki. My life will be so much less.”

Loki, for once in his life, found himself speechless.

“I would like to ask you just one thing.” Odin said. “You need not answer if you would rather not...”

“Ask me anything,” Loki said. “And I swear that I will tell you the truth.”

He meant it. He was a little drunk on Eir's pain potion, and on the surreality of the situation.

“Why did you never tell me, or anyone else, that you loved Sif? I have spoken to you so many times of my hopes that she and your brother would wed. I cannot imagine how much that must have hurt you. Why did you let it go on?”

Loki shrugged. “Who was I to contradict the wishes of the Allfather?”

“My son, that's who! What sort of beast do you imagine me, if you think I would willingly break your heart? Or hers, for that matter.”

“I did not think that you would wish to hurt either of us. I would have spoken if it seemed that you were truly going to order them to marry. I just wanted to postpone … the unpleasantness.”

Odin frowned. “What unpleasantness?”

“You know. The disbelief, that she should choose me instead of Thor.” He felt bitterness rising to color his words. “The whispers, the rumors that I had bewitched her. Your disappointment that Sif, the woman who should have been Queen, who should have been the mother of Thor's heirs, was to be wasted on me instead.”

“Oh, Loki.”Odin's voice was heavy, weighed down with sorrow. “It is bad enough that you believed others would think such things, but that you truly thought I would think them...”

He was silent for a long moment. 

“You know,” he said at last. “From the first moment that I saw you, all I ever wanted to do was take good care of you. I wanted you to know that the world was more than just a cold place where you had been left all alone. I have failed, for that is still how you see it. I have made so many mistakes with you.” Odin took his hand and began to rub his fingers gently, trying to bring a little warmth back into them. 

“We are different, you and I,” he continued. “And I know there have been times when I should have tried much harder to understand you. I have never meant to hurt you, but I have done it accidentally again and again, and I know that lack of malice on my part does not make the pain any less. And there were things that I should have told you, things that might have made it easier for others to understand you, and for you to understand yourself. I have made such a mess of your life, and now it is too late to make any of it right. All that I can do now is say that I am sorry, and ask humbly for your forgiveness.”

Some of the things that his father said did not make complete sense, but Loki supposed that that was because he was drugged, and half asleep. But he thought that he had probably understood the important part. 

“I forgive you,” he said. “And for what it is worth, I do not think that you have made a mess of my life. I have enjoyed it considerably.”

“Thank you,” Odin said quietly. “You have always been a good boy.”

That shocked a laugh out of him. “Oh, now I know I am done for, or you would never speak such an outrageous lie.”

Odin's lips twitched, just a little. “I have disapproved of your conduct many, many times. But I have never doubted that you have a good heart.”

“Then you have probably not been paying very good attention to the matter.” The words were slightly slurred, his tongue feeling unusually thick and unwieldy. His eyes were hot and gritty, and it felt heavenly just to let them fall shut. 

“I'm so tired, Papa,” he whispered.

“I know.” He felt his father's hand tighten around his own. “Just rest. I will be right here, if you need me.” 

Loki felt a smile curve his lips. His father was here, beside him. Loki had his full attention.

It was almost worth dying to have that, just once, he thought as he fell asleep.


	11. The Will Therein Lieth, that Dieth Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope that this will be as satisfying to read as it was to write.

Sif did not see it coming. She didn't even hear it.

She was dozing at sundown. Days of little food and and water and only as much movement as the chain binding her to the wall allowed had taken their toll, and she was weary.

She had also been hoping to reach Loki one last time, but the only dreams she walked were her own. They were dark twisting corridors of vague fears and sorrows, and she would have fought to leave them if the reality around her were any better.

She was jerked violently awake by the sensation of being squeezed. She reached down and felt what was certainly the leathery skin of a tentacle wrapped around her waist. For a moment she fought instinctively in the darkness, and then something heavy fell into the pool on the ground before her, causing the pit to fill with sudden blue white radiance.

More than once she had seen deer freeze when they sighted the archer, and that was what happened to her now. She was stiff and motionless as a second tentacle ripped the shackle from the wall. She was lifted into the air, bringing her eye level with Lilith.

“Tonight the stars are right, my Lady.” Lilith said.

Sif did not scream, but only because the breath to do so would not come.

The body before her was nothing but a bulbous head. The skin was transparent, showing the pulse and wriggle of the organs inside. The mouth was a gaping triangular maw, filled to overflowing with with needle thin, transparent teeth. 

The eyes were the worst part. They were each the size of a mellon, completely round, and a deep, clear sky blue. 

As she watched, the body gave a gelatinous shudder, and though it hardly seemed possible, the mouth opened even wider. Out of it came a sweet, crystalline laugh, like the laugh of a little girl. It was accompanied by a blast of air redolent of spoiled meat and decay.

Sif felt something in her mind begin to fray.

“We meet at last.” There were no lips, but the blackened tongue writhed behind the teeth when it spoke.

It was only when one of the seemingly countless tentacles began to worm its cold, slimy way into her leather leggings that the stupor broke, and she began to flail.

“Relax, child. You are only making this harder on yourself,” Lilith murmured soothingly. The tentacles pulled her even closer to the pulsating head. Two of the tentacles forced her legs apart. Her arms were free, but when she shoved at the tentacle binding her waist, it did not budge.

She looked up, her mind running in frantic circles. Then she realized what she was looking at, just a few inches from her face. 

She was looking at Lilith's heart. There it lay, just beneath the skin. It glowed softly with a corpse-light radiance as it pumped the clear fluid that served as blood from ventricle to ventricle.

Oh, for a sword or knife.

This was it, she thought as she felt a sucker brush almost tenderly against her hip. This was how her story would end.

And then, suddenly she was in another place, altogether. She was beside Loki on a stone bench, beneath the gracefully drooping branches of a willow, on a summer day long ago.

“Magic, is, in its purest form, nothing more than intent,” he said. “Spells and rituals help to channel the mind, but really all that you need to work magic is a will strong enough, and focus great enough, to force matter to suite your will.”

As soon as it had come, the vision was gone. Sif looked down at her hands. 

They were quick, they were clever, they had saved her life and the lives of others, more than once. If there was anything in the world that should bend to suite her will, it was them.

She thought of claws. Bear claws, lion claws, the talons of eagles. Claws sharp enough to rend flesh like wet paper.

“Claws!” she cried out loud.

Lilith sighed. “You've snapped already? How disappointing.” 

Sif looked at her hands again, and could see no difference in them, but it did not matter. She had to try.

She lunged forward, and her fingers sank into the clammy flesh of Lilith's body. There was a split second of resistance, and then her fingers pierced the skin like needles slipping into cloth. She sank into hot, stinking fluid up to her elbows.

She felt the slippery pulsing of the heart in her hands, and and she sank her now razor sharp fingers into it, as deep as they would go.

The sound that Lilith made was less like a scream, and more like the sound of rusty hinges grinding against each other. 

The tentacles instinctively flung away the source of the pain. Sif hung onto the still beating heart. She hung onto it even as she flew through the air, landing with a thud against the stone wall.

Lilith, flailed, tentacles splashing in the glowing water, allowing Sif to watch as the great head slowly deflated like a popped water balloon. The eyes stayed open and glaring, even as they slowly descended to the ground. At last Lilith was nothing more than a puddle of soggy flesh, with the now dimming eyes floating on top like obscene lilly pads.

Sif did not pause to admire her work. She flung the lump of greasy tissue that had been a heart from her hands, and pulled off her boots. The shackle still hung from her ankle, but she hardly even noticed as she began to climb the rock wall of the pit, her fingers and bare toes finding purchase on the stone like a monkey's.

When she reached the top and dragged herself from the pit, she found one of the torches that Thor and the Warriors Three had left, lying on the ground. Without even pausing to think too hard about what she did, she lifted it and thought of fire. Flames bloomed at her fingertips, and she touched them to the head of the torch.

She ran through the twisting corridors beneath the mountain, until she finally found the mouth of the cave. She allowed herself to rest for just a moment, her face turned up to the full moon and the navy blue sky full of stars. 

Then, she threw back her head and shouted for Heimdall, her voice like ground glass in her throat. 

With a familiar roar, the Bifrost opened, and pulled her into the sky.


	12. The Road To Awe

Thor had thought that Sif falling was the worst thing that he was ever likely to see.

He was wrong.

It had begun in the middle of the night. Thor was dozing in a chair by Loki's bedside. Odin had gone to try to persuade Frigga to allow herself a few hours of sleep.

Thor knew by now that his brother was fading, and doing so quickly. He had slept for nearly twenty hours out of the past twenty four, and it was getting harder and harder to rouse him. Thor and his father between them had managed to make him stay awake long enough to take a few spoonfuls of broth, but it had been difficult.

So when Thor felt a hand tugging on his sleeve, he thought it must be one of his parents, or perhaps a servant. When he opened his eyes and saw Loki awake, his first feeling was one of relief. Perhaps, Thor thought, if he had awakened by himself, it would be easier to coax a little more food into him...

“Thor, where is Mother?” 

When he heard that, and truly looked at his brother without sleep clouding his vision, Thor felt his heart sink. 

“I think she is in the Healing Halls. I'll go get her.”

He tried to rise, but Loki clutched convulsively at his hand.

“No! I...I would rather you stay here, and send someone to fetch her.”

“Alright, I am right here, I won't leave you.” Thor reached up to give the tassel hanging from the wall beside him a sharp tug, ringing for a servant. 

“And perhaps they could fetch Eir, as well?”

Thor pulled on the tassel until it snapped off in his hand. “Yes. She'll be here soon. Tell me what's wrong, Loki.”

He was gnawing on his bottom lip, a childhood sign of distress that Thor had not seen from him in years. His eyes were huge and dark in his white face. He shook his head.

“I...do not not feel well.” His voice was small and strangely brittle.

“It's alright, Loki, you'll be alright. Mother and Eir will be here in just a moment, and they'll make you better, I promise.” He was babbling, and they both knew it, but Loki just nodded.

The servant who came running did not even have to be instructed on what to do. She took one look at Loki and then ran out, shouting over her shoulder that she would go and get Eir.

Eir was the first to arrive, swiftly followed by Odin. Frigga was actually the last to appear. Her eyes were wild, her fingertips were stained gray, and there were cobwebs in her hair. Thor, having seen these symptoms before, realized that she had not been in the Healing Halls, but in the deepest reaches of the Library.

Eir went straight to the bedside table, and began pulling bottles, droppers, and other instruments from the bag she had brought with her. 

Frigga looked down at her youngest son as she came to take his hand, and Thor could see that she was struggling to hold back tears. 

“Loki,” she said as she sank onto the edge of the bed. “I am sorry. I tried, love, I tried so hard.”

“I know, Mama.” He managed a faint smile. “I know you tried, but there was never anything you could do. There was nothing that anyone could do.”

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes, and smoothed his hair with a gentle touch. 

“I wish it were me,” she whispered.  


“I don't,” he replied with a faint smile. 

For a while there was no conversation as Eir worked on Loki. She mixed several drops of different mixtures into a glass of wine and made him drink it, and then she rubbed some sort of ointment into the pulse points at his wrists.

Thor had no idea what any of it was, but it seemed to ease Loki somewhat. A little of the wild look left his eyes, and the lines of pain around his mouth softened. His labored breathing grew more regular, and Thor felt as if he could breathe again, as well.

Thor's relief was short lived, though. Loki soon began to mutter in a confused way, and to pluck restlessly at the covers.

“Is that because of the medicine?” Thor whispered to Eir. 

She shook her head. “No. What you are seeing is...it means that he has reached the end of his strength. He held on far longer than I would have thought possible, but it will be over soon.”

Thor just nodded, not trusting his voice. 

It was some time after that that Loki looked up at Thor, his eyes oddly clouded and opaque.

“Where is Sif?” he asked in tired child's querulous tone. “I have called and called, why does she not come?”

Loki had often accused him of not thinking before he spoke. As usual, he answered without thought and in complete honesty.

“Loki, Sif is gone. Do you not remember?”

“Gone? Where would she go?”

That was simply too much, far too much. When Thor answered his voice was a half shout, gravely with pain.

“She is dead!” he cried.

Loki stiffened and gasped as though he had been struck. Then he began to sob.

In all of their lives together, Thor had never seen his brother weep with such raw agony. Frigga pulled him into her arms and rocked him as best she could, stroking his hair and murmuring soothing nonsense as her own tears fell.

“I am sorry,” Thor whispered to no one and everyone, a hot lump of shame burning in his chest. Odin gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

At last the sobbing stopped, and Loki dozed for a while. But when he woke, he asked for her again. 

“Where is my Sif?” he asked, his voice sounding raw and wrecked. “Has she forgotten about me, after all?”

This time Odin answered. “Of course she has not forgotten you! She asked me to tell you that she was delayed, but she is coming as quickly as she can.”

The way that his brother's pale face brightened made Thor's stomach hurt. 

“Will she be here soon?”

“Yes, very soon. She said that in the meantime you should lie still and rest.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Loki smiled, his heart bright in his eyes. “I love you, Papa.”

Thor felt his father tremble, but when he spoke his voice was warm and steady. 

“I love you too, my son.”

Loki heaved a deep sigh, and then relaxed on the pillows, his eyes fluttering shut. Eir reach down to lay a hand on his chest, over his heart.

“Not yet,” she said in answer to the silent question hanging in the air. “But it will not be long now.”

Frigga straightened the coverlet, tucking it tenderly around her son as she had so many times when he was small. She bent to kiss the bridge of his nose, and her tears dripped onto his cheeks. She wiped them away with trembling fingers. 

“Sleep well, my sweet boy,” she whispered.

Thor had said his goodbye, but he still wished that Loki would open his eyes, just one more time. In the silence that fell in the wake of their mother's words, he could hear rain lashing the windows, falling harder and harder. The wind was rising, moaning around the eves of the palace. Thunder rumbled, faint and distant yet, but growing nearer.

Then Thor heard something else. There was some sort of commotion in the hall outside of Loki's rooms, raised voices and thudding feet. After that came the unmistakable sound of the doors to the sitting room crashing open.

Thor rose, feeling rage surge through his blood. He would kill whoever had dared to interrupt Loki's last hour.

The doors to the bedchamber were flung open, so hard that both panels bounced off of the walls to either side with a protesting shriek.

And there, in the doorway, was Sif.

She was soaking wet, her dark hair plastered to her head. Her hunting leathers were torn and stained, and there was a manacle draggling a heavy length of chain fastened to her ankle. Her feet were bare, and when she took a step, her footprint was a pinkish puddle of rainwater and blood.

But it was her face that drew Thor's eyes. It was ice white, and her topaz eyes were impossibly wide and wild.

Her eyes flickered briefly over him, ignoring his parents and the healer entirely. Then they seemed to see only one person. With a sound half moan, half sob, she lurched toward the bed.

Thor stepped between his brother and whatever had just entered the room. Drauger, he thought, unquiet dead. He grabbed her when she tried to push past him.

“I am not dead!” She cried out the words with such anguish that Thor nearly let her go. “Thor, I am not dead, let me go!”

Odin touched her arm, and his eyes widened. “She speaks the truth.”

Thor let go of her, and she tumbled into the bed. She shook Loki by the shoulders and shrieked his name. When that had no effect, she turned her frenzied gaze to Eir.

“Do something! You have to wake him!”

Eir looked nearly as stricken as Sif. “I cannot. It is beyond my power.”

For a moment despair seemed to flicker at the edges of Sif's expression, and then fresh intensity filled her eyes. 

“I can go into his dreams and bring him back. Give me something to make me sleep.”

“Lady Sif, I am not at all certain that that is wise. At the very least I should see that you yourself are well first...”

Thor could see the beginnings of a berserker rage filling her face, and he opened his mouth to protest, but his mother spoke first. 

“Do it.” He normally gracious voice held a steely tone of command. “If she thinks she can bring him back, let her try.”

Eir sighed, and went to dig through her bag. She drew out a vial that was filled with a golden liquid. 

“This will make you sleep instantly and deeply, but not long. Try to do what you must quickly.”

Eir held the vial out and Sif grabbed it, tossing back the contents in a single gulp. It fell from her nerveless fingers as she crumpled to the bed by Loki's side.


	13. Misty, Watercolored...

Sif left what was clearly the gathering at Loki's deathbed behind, and drifted in darkness for a moment. The she caught the edge of his sleeping mind, and pulled herself inside.

She found herself in the palace's great feasting hall. The decorations of white and gold on the tables, the fresh roses heaped on every available surface, and the throngs of warriors and courtiers in their light and colorful summer finery told her what this feast marked. It was the celebration of the Summer Solstice.

Sif ran along the banquet tables, and found Loki in his accustomed seat at the high table. With a shock, she saw an image of herself there as well, in her usual place to the left of Thor's currently empty seat.

She realized now that though this was a dream, it was a memory as well. This feast had happened only a month ago.

She made a beeline for Loki, and reached out to touch him. Her hand passed right through him, as though he were a ghost. Undaunted, she ran back to the doors of the feasting hall. As she ran she tried to grab others, and found them all empty images.

These were nothing more than memories. Loki himself must be hiding somewhere else in the dream-palace, she thought.

But when she reached the doors she found that they would not open. She could not open the doors that led out into the gardens, either, and when she tried to lift a chair with which to break a window, her hands passed through it, as well.

“I do not have time for games, Loki!” she shouted at last, in complete frustration. “Just show yourself!”

There was no answer.

Finally she relented, with a sigh. Clearly Loki, or at least some part of his mind, wanted her to relive this memory.

Even if she had unlimited time, she would not have welcomed this. She had not enjoyed this feast the first time.

Though the tables groaned under platter after platter of food and countless tankards of ale and goblets of wine, no one was eating. It was tradition that the Midsummer feast did not begin until one among the court had presented the king with something truly spectacular; a tale without equal or a gift beyond price. A marvel. 

As both Sif and her dream-double watched, Loki stood, holding a small, silk wrapped bundle in his hand. The chatter quieted as he held it out to his father.

“Behold, my King!” His voice rang out strong and true, audible even to those in the far corners of the room. “I have brought to you a true marvel; the eye of the great golden idol that stands in the temple of Mahzat-Lannit, in the ancient forest of Zana. Look now upon what was once the eye of AtlAtl of the Wings!”

With a flourish he pulled back the silk cloth to reveal a ruby the size of his palm. In the golden light of the Midsummer afternoon, it shone like a clear sphere of glass filled with blood and flame. A gasp was drawn from the assembly.

Loki's face was nearly as bright as the jewel. 

Odin took the ruby and examined it. When he spoke, it was not approval that filled his voice, but pity.

“My son,” he said heavily. “I fear that whomever gave you this trinket has deceived you.”

Sif felt her heart sink, just as it had then. The color drained from Loki's face, and his eyes darkened.

Odin set the ruby on the table. “Though this jewel is lovely, and is a worthy gift, it cannot be the eye of AtlAtl of the Wings. No man has ever gotten close enough to touch the idol, and lived to tell the tale.”

Not even the second Prince would dare to question the Allfather before his people. Loki bowed his head, and subsided into his chair. The crowd resumed their murmuring, this time with a note of discontent. The king had not declared the jewel a marvel.The feast could not begin.

Watching now, Sif saw the quick look that her dream-double flashed the Queen across Thor's empty chair. Frigga's face was calm and impassive, but her eyes had darkened. She would have words with her husband, as soon as they were out of public view.

Loki stared down at his empty plate, his face blank.

Just a few moments passed before Thor burst through the door, bearing the still bleeding severed head of a giant.

Just as she had when it happened the first time, Sif did not turn to look as Thor marched up to his father, glowing with victory, to present the prize. She did not look toward Odin as he declared the head a true marvel, to the thunderous cheers of all. She kept her eyes on Loki, watching as he seemed to recede into the chair.

As soon as everyone in the hall was absorbed in the food and in Thor's tale of the slain giant, Loki slipped from the table. Dream-Sif soon followed.

Sif followed Loki's image and her own, and when they passed through the doors of the Great Hall she found she could pass them as well.

Dream-Sif chased Loki down the corridor as he hurried away. At last she caught up to him, and grabbed his sleeve.

He threw her an irritated look, and kept walking.

“I missed you,” Dream-Sif said. He had been gone almost a month in his search for the jewel.

That slowed him a little, but he kept walking, and he did not look back.

“I missed you, too,” he admitted. “I will speak with you later, but right now I am very tired.”

“I know,” Dream-Sif said quietly. That was surely true. He looked exhausted, which was not surprising. He had spent weeks slogging through the sweltering jungle, and though he could walk barefoot through snow with barely a flinch, he had little tolerance for heat. 

“Perhaps I could visit with you, just for a little while...”

He rounded on her then, his face turning thunderous. “Leave me be! I want to be alone!”

Dream-Sif did not even blink. “I would rather have you shout at me than know you are sitting by yourself, brooding.”

At that, Loki deflated, shoulders slumping. “Sif, I do not mean to shout at you, but I am not good company just now.”

“I don't expect you to entertain me. I want you to tell me about all the horrors of your journey, and I want to listen to you complain about your father, as you are so very entitled to do.”

For a moment irritation lingered on his face, but at last his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “That is truly how you wish to spend your Midsummer evening?”

Dream-Sif glanced around to make sure that they were alone in the corridor, and then she stepped up to Loki and put an arm around his waist. 

“That is indeed how I wish to spend my evening. My Midsummer's night, however, is another thing entirely.”

He let her pull him close. “And what are your plans for the night, my Lady?”

“Well, let us sneak into the kitchen to steal some supper and a bottle of wine, and then we can take it to your rooms, and I will tell you my thoughts on the matter.”

Loki smoothed a hand down the sleek dark fall of Dream-Sif's hair. “Tell me, what have I ever done to deserve someone like you?”

“Committed the unpardonable sin, I would think. Now come along, I'm starving!”

Sif watched her dream-double drag a laughing Loki down the hall, and then everything around her went dark, as though she were watching a play and the act had come to an end. A silver door appeared in front of her, seeming to float in midair.

She took the hint, and opened it.

Now she found herself in Loki's study, and in the middle of another memory. This one was much older than the first. The Loki sitting at the desk beneath the window was but a youth. The man he would become was visible in the lines of his face, but there was still an adolescent softness about his features.

As she watched, there was a knock at the door, and he called out for the knocker to enter.

The door opened, and Sif groaned. 

She watched as a younger version of herself entered, all gangly limbs and unfortunate skin. Her still golden hair was cut short as a boy's, for she had chopped it defiantly with a dagger when she had begun her warrior's training. It stuck out around her face like brush bristles. 

Loki brightened instantly. “Sif! I thought you were still visiting your aunt in the country!”

“I just got back a little while ago. I'm sorry that I missed your birthday feast.”

He shrugged, a bit of the light leaving his eyes. “You did not miss much.”

Dream-Sif managed to fold all of her ungainly limbs into the chair on the other side of Loki's desk. Behind her back, she concealed a package wrapped in green paper and tied with a gold satin bow.

“What presents did you get?”

“Mother gave me a cloak enchanted to repel arrows, Thor gave me a set of throwing knives, and Father gave me...that.” 

He gestured toward the wall, where an enormous battle-ax leaned.

“Oh,” Dream-Sif said. “It's very...large, isn't it?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” He studied it for a moment, head cocked to one side. “I managed to swing it once. Then I fell over.”

“Huh. Well, I'm sure you'll grow into it.”

(Sif had to smile at that; he never had. It currently lived at the back of his wardrobe. He said he was using it to repel fauns, whatever that meant.)

“I know it is not nearly as grand as the things you've already gotten, but I brought you a present.”

She handed him the package, and he began to tear the paper with a look of polite interest on his face. When he saw what was underneath it, his expression turned to one of genuine pleasure.

Beneath the shiny green paper lay a book of ancient ballads, listing their words and common variations on them, as well as the stories of their origins. Sif had saved her pennies for nearly three months in order to buy it from a bookseller in the city.

Loki stared down at it for so long without speaking that Dream-Sif began to fidget.

“Does it not please you?” She asked at last. “It...it has the music for all the songs, too. I thought perhaps you might sing one or two for me,” she finished uncertainly.

When Loki raised his head, his eyes were shimmering with tears.

“I cannot believe you got this for me,” he said.

“Oh, I didn't mean to upset you!” Dream-Sif gasped in horror. “Give it back to me, I'll return it and get you something else...”

“No, no, you did not upset me!” He reached across the table to grasp her hands. “Sif, it's wonderful, I love it!”

“Then why are you crying?!”

He blinked, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. “Because it's for me, really for me, as I am. It's not for a person you wish I would be.”

Dream-Sif leapt up and ran around the desk to throw her arms around him. 

“Of course it's for you, just as you are! What else could I ever want you to be? What could be better than you?”

Loki hugged her back, burying his face in her spiky hair. “I will sing every song for you, until you're weary of hearing me!”

Dream-Sif laughed. “I think that will take a long, long time.”

“It hasn't happened yet,” Sif whispered as the room went dark.

Again the silver door appeared, and again she walked through it.

This time she stepped out into the garden on a soft summer afternoon, when the very air seemed to have a golden glow.

There in the familiar corner between the bed of chamomile and the wall, was Loki.

A very small, very upset Loki.

He was sitting in the grass in a little ball of misery, his knees pulled up to his chest. Between his chest and knees, his arms were wrapped around a stuffed toy, a wolf wearing red trousers and blue pants. He was sobbing, his face buried in the little wolf's soft gray fur.

Without even thinking, Sif leaned down and tried to scoop him up. When her arms passed through him, she let out a growl of frustration.

“Dammit, Loki, why would you show me this?! It had better move along quickly, because I can't stand much more.”

As if in answer, someone else came into the herb garden.

This version of herself was tiny, rail thin, and summer brown. Her long golden hair was a tangled mess, and there was fine coating of dirt on her bare feet. Her dress, pink with a pattern of strawberries on it, was also less than clean.

Loki was still crying. He did not look up.

Little Sif looked down at him for a moment in clear puzzlement.

Then she kicked him. Hard.

Loki gave a cry of mingled shock and pain, and raised his tearstained face.

Sif wracked her brain, but this scene she did not remember at all.

“What is wrong with you?” Little Sif demanded.

“I'm sad.” Loki snuffled.

“I can see that. What are you sad about?”

“Thor broke one of Mama's statues, so he can't come out to play. I went to play with the others, but they said they didn't want me.” Fresh tears began to trickle down his cheeks. “They said they only play with me because Thor says they have to. They said they don't like me, they only like Thor.”

Little Sif's brow darkened in a child's version of a pre-battle scowl. “Who said that?”

“Bjorn and Ingrid.”

“Bjorn and Ingrid are stupid! Why do you want to play with them, anyway?”

That did not seem to help much. Tears still rolled down Loki's cheeks. 

“Don't be sad, Loki.” Little Sif flopped down beside him, and threw an arm around his shoulders. “I like you! And you like me better than Bjorn and Ingrid, don't you?”

“I like you better than anybody but Mama and Papa and Thor.” He threw her a slightly suspicious look. “Do really like me? Or do you just like Thor?”

“I like both of you.” Little Sif's face broke into a huge, gap-toothed grin. “But you're the only one that makes me laugh till milk comes out of my nose.”

She gave him a genial shake. “Now stop crying! You're making me sad, too. And you're getting Fenris all wet.”

Loki gave Fenris an alarmed look, and then hugged him in apology before setting him gently on the grass. He wiped at his face, and gave a few final snuffles. “Will you always like me?” he asked, his small face scrunched with anxiety. 

Little Sif looked at him as though he had just asked the world's stupidest question. “I'll like you forever and ever.”  


At that Loki's face finally cleared completely, and he smiled. “Then I don't care what anybody else says.”

“Good!” Little Sif leapt up. “Did Thor tell you there are kittens in the stable? Come see!”

She pulled him to his feet, and that was when it happened. 

A bright spark like a tiny shooting star flew between the two children, from his chest to hers. 

“What was that?” Little Sif asked, startled.

“I think it was a firefly. Let's go see the kittens!”

Hand in hand, they ran away in the direction of the stables.

Sif stood there for a few moments, even after the garden went dark and the silver door materialized in front of her.

This was when it happened. This was the day that Loki had given his heart, and his life to her. She had a vague memory of the kittens, and a pretty clear memory of putting a handful of earthworms in Ingrid's hair later in the day, but she did not remember this moment in the garden at all.

At last Sif wiped the tears from her cheeks, and opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I reject your reality, and replace it with Celtic customs, Arthurian legend, and vaguely Aztec nonsense gibberish. It works. Sometimes. :/


	14. Let My Love Open the Door

Beyond the door lay a plain dry and gray as ash, reaching out into the horizon. The sky above it was equally gray, equally flat, equally distressing.

The only feature that Sif could see was a small rounded shape, like a small hill, in the far distance. With a sigh, she started walking.

She thought of what Eir had said about doing what needed to be done as quickly as possible. She was sincerely hoping that this journey would (as is often the way of dreams) feel much longer than it would actually take in the waking world.

As she drew closer to the hill, she began to have a suspicion about what it might be, a suspicion that made her quicken her already swift steps.

Her suspicion proved correct. It was a barrow. A burial mound.

By the time she reached the doorway that led into it, she was panting. She had to pause a moment to catch her breath, one hand pressed to the stitch in her side.

“Loki Odinson, why do you always have to be so damn dramatic about everything?” she asked the hulking gray mound in front of her. “When I finally find you and give you true love's kiss, or whatever it is that you need, I am going to beat you senseless.”

Feeling obscurely better about things after that announcement, she ducked under the stone lintel, and stepped into the interior. 

From what she understood, a barrow was supposed to be filled with the things that you wished to take into the next world with you. Most people filled their barrows with racks of weapons, fine clothing, and mounds of gold.

As she had learned long, long ago, Loki was not most people.

The first of the burial chambers was filled with the sort of things that Loki held dear. She did not pause to examine any of it closely, but she could tell that most of the chamber held stacks of books that teetered in precarious piles. There were also jars of scrolls, fossils, curiously shaped rocks, and strange arcane implements, some of them familiar to her, some not.

She did pause, just for a moment, when she saw a tattered and dog eared book of ancient ballads lying in a stripe of murky sunlight.

She hesitated again when she reached the door to the inner chamber. In a real barrow, this was where the body would be found. If he was lying beyond it stretched out on a stone slab like a corpse, she was not certain she would be able to stand it.

Sif took a deep breath, and opened the door. 

To her boundless relief, it was not a true burial chamber. The floor was strewn with richly embroidered carpets, the walls hung with silk tapestries. A brazier in the middle of the room drenched the whole scene in flickering golden firelight. Next to it was a narrow couch, and lying stretched out on it in a nest of plump golden pillows, was Loki. He was pale and still, but he looked less like a corpse than a fairytale prince under a spell of sleep. Sif ran toward him...

...And straight into an invisible wall. She bounced off of it with a startled cry of pain, the impact sending her tumbling to the floor.

She called his name as she leapt to her feet, but he did not even stir. She ran from one end of the room to the other, searching for a break in the wall, but she could not find one. She was preparing to go back into the first chamber in search of something that she could stand on in order to find out if she could climb over the wall when she heard something that stopped her dead. 

“Don't bother. It reaches all the way to the ceiling,” Loki said in a leaden, exhausted voice.

“Loki! Let me in!” Sif cried, pounding on the wall.

“No.” His face was turned away from her on the pillow, and he did not open his eyes.

“Why?!”

“Because you are nothing but a shadow, a lie.” His voice shook. “I am weary of lies. I want the truth.”

“I am real, I swear it! I killed Lilith and found my way out of the pit to come home to you.”

“Then why can't I feel you?”

“You will, you will feel me and know that I am real, if I can just touch you.” She knew that if she could just take his hand, he would believe her.

“No,” Loki whispered. “I cannot bear it. I can't touch you and feel nothing but an empty ache, not when I am this close to finding my true Sif.”

“No, no, you cannot do this, you cannot leave me now! Just let me touch you, and you'll understand!”

“Leave me be!” His eyes were still shut tight, but tears trickled from beneath his lashes. “I'm tired and I hurt, and all I want is to go to my rest.”

“Oh, Loki.” She wanted to be angry with him, wanted the power that came with rage, but it was impossible when he looked and sounded so exhausted, so fragile. “I am sorry that you suffer, and sorry that I am the cause. Please let me make you well again. Please.”

He did not respond, but tears continued to drip steadily down his pale cheeks.

Sif slumped against the barrier, feeling even more helpless than she had in Lilith's tentacles. How could she save him if he did not wish to be saved? What weapon could she possibly wield against his magic?

And then she knew.

Loki had always been better at manipulating their dreams than she was. He often told her that she had a mental block, and that was why she could not influence her surroundings without his help. 

But now she had managed to reshape the fabric of reality. Compared to that, what was the fabric of dreams?

Sif closed her eyes and imagined the perfect weapon to bring down a wall. She knew this weapon as well as her own reflection, and it rose effortlessly in her mind's eye.

Though she had never lifted it herself, she could imagine its weight, the thrum of its power against her palms. 

She opened her eyes, and there was Mjolnir, held firmly in her hands. She drew the hammer back over her shoulder, and swung.

The wall shattered like glass. The shards of it became visible as they fell like a curtain of twinkling, fire colored jewels.  
All Loki had time to do was look at her in shock as she reached out and grabbed his hand.

Sif woke with a gasp. She sprang bolt upright in the bed, sucking air into her lungs in ragged gulps, as though she had just been dunked in a tub of ice water. 

She turned her head, thinking to see Loki waking beside her.

He was beside her, but he lay just as white and still as he had been when she entered the room.

“Loki?” Sif said in horrified disbelief. She touched his cheek, and found it ice cold beneath her trembling fingers.

She had failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just keep the faith, now...


	15. Wait For Me

Sif felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Frigga gazing at her with eyes as ancient as the sea, and as sad as a life without end.

“I found him,” Sif stammered. “But he didn't believe that I was real, that I was alive. I thought I had proven it to him but I... I...” She felt her face begin to crumple, and she tried to stop it, but it would not be stopped.

“Do you hate me?” she whispered.

Frigga's hand was warm against her cheek, but there was even more warmth in her voice when she spoke. “Child, what cause could I have to hate you?”

“I've killed him! He suffered so much, all because of me.”

The Queen reached out and pulled Sif into her arms.

“You did not cause him to suffer and you surely did not kill him. Whoever kept you prisoner and made him believe that you were dead did that.”

“That may be, but I was still too late. I couldn't save him.”

“You tried. And if I did not already love you, I would love you for that.”

Sif did not reply. She just clung to Frigga like she was the last piece of flotsam in a stormy sea.

She heard a pop, and felt the weight of the shackle lifted from her ankle. She looked up to see Odin tossing the shackle and chain to the floor. He smiled when she caught his eye.

“Sif,” he said gently. “Who held you captive?”

She felt again the sensation of the cold, slimy tentacle wriggling against her thigh, and she began to tremble.

“It's dead,” she managed at last. “I killed it. It's dead.”

“But what was it? Was it something like the creatures we saw in the caves?” Thor asked.

“It was...it ….” Suddenly her throat burned with bile. She shook her head wildly, and buried her face against Frigga's shoulder.

“You need not speak of it now, if you are not ready.” Frigga stroked her hair, and slowly the trembling ceased, and her heart stopped its frantic pounding.

“Lady Sif,” Eir said at length. “You should really come with me to the Healing Halls.”

“No, I am not hurt.” She was bleeding from a thousand fiery little cuts and scrapes, but that simply did not matter now. “I want to stay here until... I will not leave him.”

“Of course you won't.” Frigga tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We should let the two of you have some time alone.”

“You don't have to do that! All of you should be here with him.”

“We have all told him goodbye.” Odin said. “You should have a chance to do the same.”

“It is possible that he can still hear you, if there is anything you wish to say to him,” Eir added.

Sif looked down at Loki's pale, peaceful face, and thought of all the things she would want to tell him, if he could still hear.

Frigga gave her a final squeeze, and rose. “We will all be right outside in the sitting room, if you should need us.”

“I won't need long. Just a little while.”

“Take the time to tell him everything that you want to him to know.” Frigga bent to stroke her youngest son's cheek one last time, and then she left. Her husband and the healer followed.

Before Thor left, he came around to Sif's side of the bed and folded her into a spine-crushing hug. 

“I love you, Sif,” he said. “And I am sorry that I thought you were a drauger.”

She had to smile at that. “I love you, too. And I'm sure that I look like one.”

“Only a little.” He kissed the top of her head, and then he too left.

Sif took Loki's hand in hers. For a moment she sat in silence, gently rubbing his icy fingers.

There were so many things that she wanted to say. But first things first.

“I forgive you,” she said. “I do not know if you deliberately chose not to come back with me, or if you were just too worn out to follow, but either way, I do not blame you. If what you want is to go to your rest, then that is what you should do. You've earned that right.”

Sif stroked the tips of her fingers over his lips, the sharp line of his cheekbones, the shadows beneath his eyes.

“You must be so cold.” She lay down by his side and nestled close, resting her cheek on his shoulder. She had fallen asleep to the music of his heartbeat a million times, but she had never heard it sound like it did now. The beats were too faint, the pauses between them too long.

“I love you,” Sif whispered. “I've never told you that often enough. I know that you know, but you deserve to hear it.”

She stroked his throat, his cheek, the whorls of his ear and the ends of his hair.

“I will miss you every hour of every day that I walk this earth without you.”

(She did not say it because she knew it would not be something that he wanted to hear, but she did not think that those days would be many. How many times had she been one mistake away from death? How easy would it be to swing a sword just a little too low, or hesitate a split second before raising her shield?)

“I'll miss your voice, your touch, and the sound of your laugh.” She smiled, her lips curving against his shoulder. “I will miss shouting at you, and searching your rooms for things that you've stolen from me. I think I will even miss the way you snore when you've had too much ale.”

She was quiet for a moment then, just listening to his heartbeat as it grew slower and slower.

“You are the love of my life,” she said at last, her voice catching on the words. “I always thought we would be married someday. I would have been so proud to be your wife, to be the mother of your children.”

“There will never be anyone but you, Loki. Never. I can't remember a time when I didn't love you.”

His heartbeat was so slow now, so faint that she could barely hear it.

“I will come to you,” she whispered. “Wait for me, and I will find you.”

Sif felt Loki sigh, and his heart faltered, and then stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, Happy Valentine's Day?


	16. In a World of Our Own

When he had fallen asleep for the last time, Loki had withdrawn into the deepest part of his mind, as far away as he could get from the cold and the pain and the sorrow of the people that he loved.  
There, he had wrapped himself in his sweetest memories. Not just those of Sif (though many of them featured her, of course) but every memory that he treasured.

It made sense that Sif has entered his mind through his memories of her, following them like stepping stones to find him. Even so, when she first appeared, he had not believed that it was truly her, the real Sif.

Then she had taken up Mjolnir, of all things, and used it to smash through his spell. 

He had known that it was her then, even before she had flung herself bodily on top of him. That had been a very Sif thing to do.

And now she was curled up beside him, pouring her heart into his unconscious ear. He could feel her trembling, could feel the heat of her tears seeping through his nightshirt. 

Her heart was breaking. She was counting the seconds until she could have an unfortunate “accident” that would allow her to follow him.

(She was carefully not mentioning that, but in this in-between space that was neither life nor death, but closer to the latter, her thoughts were just as audible to him as her words.)

Despite the fact that she did not wish to live without him, she was not angry at the idea that he might have deliberately chosen to leave her. She was only sad at the thought that he could be so weary, so miserable, that he would choose death over life.

That, too, was very Sif.

So now he had a choice. He could let go, and drift away to a place of rest and peace. His body was so weak, his spirit bruised. The rest that both of them craved was less than a breath away.

Or he could try to fight his way back to the world of the living. It was quite possible that he lacked the strength to make it. And it would certainly cause him pain.

Peace and comfort, or pain and Sif?

That really was not much of a choice, was it?

 

Sif felt Loki's heart stutter to a stop, and she buried her face in his shoulder with a sob.

Then she felt him take a convulsive gasp, and his heart shuddered once before starting a strong, steady beat.

She raised her head just in time to see his eyes flutter open.

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a small sound of pain.

Sif started to rise. Eir, she thought, she had to go and get Eir. 

Loki grabbed her by a fistful of tunic and pulled her back. It was only when his other hand cupped the back of her neck and exerted a weak but insistent downward pressure that she realized what he wanted. 

She let him pull her close, and her lips met his.

He tasted of Eir's potions, bitter herbs and honey. He also tasted of summer afternoons, spring mornings and winter nights, of laughter and love, and friendship too.

He tasted like home.

When lack of air finally forced them to separate, she looked down into his eyes. They were still dull with weariness, but it was the expression in them that made her heart catch in her throat. It was a very similar look to the one he had worn in his memory, on the day that he had first given her his heart.  
Everything he felt for her shone in his face, and her heart was so full that it hurt.

“Sif,” his voice was rough and raw, as though his throat hurt, but joy vibrated through it all the same. “You came back, you came back to me!”

“And you came back to me, too.” She laid her hand against his cheek. He felt cool to the touch now, as he usually did, but the icy unnatural chill had left his skin. 

“Are you in pain?” she asked gently.

“No. What is there to hurt about, when you are here?” His smile was soft and dreamy as he raised trembling fingers to touch her hair. “All I want is to lie here with you in my arms until the sun falls from the sky and the winds are stilled.

“Although,” he added, a familiar twinkle of mischief sparking in his eyes, “I might let you out of my sight long enough for you to visit the bath-chamber. You seem to be coated in some sort of gooey...substance that I find most troubling.”

Sif laughed, even as tears continued to trickle down her cheeks. “You really are going to be alright now, aren't you?”

“I can be anything, as long as you are by my side,” he said.

 

It seemed to take eternity for Sif to come back to him.

Eventually she had risen from the bed and opened the doors to the sitting room, which in this case were also the proverbial flood gates. 

Eir descended upon him at once, and as soon as she declared him to be out of danger, she dragged Sif away to the Healing Halls. As soon as Eir stepped aside, his family gathered around him, after which followed much petting and fussing and even a bout of happy tears from Thor, which was almost as entertaining as it was distressing.

Servants soon came to change the rain water soaked (and slightly gooey) bedclothes, and Loki finally succeeded in convincing his keepers that he was quite able to bathe without assistance.

(He was still feeling shaky and weak, but only complete loss of consciousness would cause him to allow anyone else near the bathtub while he was in it. Except Sif, of course, but there would be time for that later.)

He was clean and settled comfortably in a tidy bed when a page came from the Healing Halls to inform him that Sif was well, and would come to him as soon as she had seen her parents, cleaned up and eaten.

His family hovered over him for a couple more hours, which he did his best to accept gracefully. He ate until he was stuffed, dutifully drank the foul potion that Eir had sent to him, and continued to respond cheerfully to the question “How do you feel?” no matter how many times it was asked.

“You should all go and get some rest,” he said at last, looking up at the three haggard faces at his bedside. “You've all barely slept or eaten in days, I know.”

Frigga and Odin looked at each other, and shared a smile.

“I think,” Odin said, “That our youngest and most diplomatic child has just asked us to leave him in peace.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest, but his mother interrupted him with a peal of laughter. 

“You are well within your rights to do so. You have been very sweet to put up with us as long as you have. And I, for one, am ready to seek my bed.”

“I am too,” Odin agreed.

“I'm not!” Thor said. “I think there is celebrating to be done. I have my two best friends back.” He beamed at Loki. “This has been the best day of my life.”

Loki couldn't help but grin back. He looked at them, his mother, his father, his great hairy beast of a brother. Despite the fact that he was ready for a little bit of alone time, he took a moment to treasure that fact that they were all here together. He loved them. And perhaps, just perhaps, in the future he would not wait until he had one foot in the grave to tell them so.

He was not at all surprised when his mother hugged him, or when Thor pulled him into a rib-cracking embrace.

He was surprised when Odin leaned down and hugged him warm and tight.

“I am far too old for stark terror, boy. You must work at staying well.”

“I will, Father.” Loki whispered.

They left then, promising to come if called, and to look in on him later. 

In their absence, the room was quiet, and in the restful silence, sleep began to tug at him. He tried to shake it off, determined to stay awake until Sif returned.

He rose and opened the curtains. The rain had stopped at last, and mid-morning sun shone down on the gardens below his window, and on the sea beyond them. He opened the doors to the balcony, allowing the mingled scent of salt and the wisteria that wound around the balcony railing into the room. 

Loki leaned against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. If he concentrated, he could feel Sif now, at the edge of his consciousness He had always been able to do so, but now the feeling was more vivid than ever. In the past he had never given it much thought. He had always been aware of her in a way that he was not aware of other people, but it felt so natural that he had not questioned it. Perhaps he should have realized long ago that he was bonded to her, but, as any crafter of illusions quickly learned, most of the time people only see what they expect to see. This was not something that he had expected. 

Now that he knew about the bond, it was obvious to him. He could feel it like a chord stretched between them, fastening his heart to hers. Just to see what would happen, he gave the chord a tug.

He felt Sif startle. The emotion was faded and far away, but unmistakable. It was rather like talking through tin cans tied together with string. 

That could prove a handy, he thought with a smile.

At last he took a book from the nearest shelf, and returned to his bed. He read for a while with the book lying in his lap, but looking down started to wear on his neck, so he stretched out on his side.

After only a few sentences, his mind began to wander, drifting to vague, comfortable thoughts. He still felt drained, but the sick, leaden feeling was gone. Now he just felt relaxed, and deliciously drowsy. 

Finally he gave up and let the book slip from his fingers as he drifted softly into sleep.

 

The rays of the sun had ripened to gold by the time that Sif made it back to Loki's chambers. He lay asleep in a pool of sunlight that flowed in through the open balcony doors, a soft breeze stirring the pages of the book lying open beside him.  
He looked so tranquil, so beautiful. She could hardly believe he was real. But he was real, and he was hers.

She hated to disturb him, he clearly needed the rest. She tiptoed to pull the balcony doors shut, and to close the curtains before the setting sun grew bright enough to wake him. 

She had just pulled the curtains shut and was about to slip back into the sitting room when he stirred and opened his eyes.

“Finally! You were gone so long that I thought you had eloped with Thor.”

Sif felt a grin spread across her face. “I did. We were halfway to Midgard when I realized I had left my good boots in here.”

“Tsk, tsk, heir to the greatest treasury in the Nine Realms, and he won't buy you a new pair of boots. Perhaps you should reconsider your choice.”

“Perhaps I should.”

“It looks like you're planning to stay a while, at least,” Loki said, eyeing the knapsack in her hand that contained several changes of clothing, and other essentials.

“I am. Eir said that I should spend at least the next few nights with you, as it will help you to get your strength back.”

“Ah, I thank you for your noble sacrifice.”

Sif laughed. She dropped her knapsack on the floor, and dove into the bed, and into his arms.

He hugged her, and buried his nose in her freshly washed hair.

“You smell good,” he said rapturously.

She laughed at that, too. “No gilded words of love from the Silvertongue?”

“I'll think up some later. Right now the unvarnished truth will have to do.”

“Good. Truth is what I am looking for.” She stroked her fingertips over the long ivory line of his throat, and her words were as tender as her touch. “Tell me what I can do to make you feel better.”   
“I already feel a thousand times better than I did. You must not worry about me.”

She gave him a long, appraising look. He was still pale, and there was a certain amount of languor in his movements, but the lines of pain were gone from his face and his eyes were clear and bright. 

“I can't help but worry. You still seem so...fragile.”

“I am only tired, my love. I'll be good as new, very soon.”

“Should I be quiet then, and let you sleep?”

“Oh no, not at all.” His deft fingers quickly unravelled her braid so that he could plunge his hands into the still damp, gardenia scented waves of her hair. “There are only two things I wish to do at the moment, and both of them involve your active participation. I'm not feeling quite equal to the first yet, so what I wish to do now is talk.” His fingers kneaded her scalp, and she could not help but lean into the touch like a petted cat.

“Tell me what happened to you, my Sif,” he said.

She felt herself stiffen, despite his soothing touch. “You...you don't remember the dreams?”

“Not really. I remember bits and pieces, but not enough to make any sense out of. I do remember the end of the last one. You were looking at me with such fear, such despair in your eyes. You needed me and I couldn't help you.” His hands trembled against her skin, and his voice caught.

“I know you. You are the closest thing to fearless that I have ever seen. Anything that could put that look in your eyes must have been horrible beyond belief. I am sorry that I don't remember you telling me the first time, but this time I promise I will not forget.”

Sif was already shaking her head. She fought the urge to curl up against him and bury her face in his shoulder. “I... Loki, I can't. I will tell you, but not now, not tonight. Tonight I just want to be with you, to be home, and let what happened fade away.”

He was silent for a moment, and she thought that he might protest.

“Alright,” he said softly. “Then tell me about what you did today, while you were away from me. Other than try to elope with Thor, of course.”

She felt her body sag with relief, and she expelled a breath she had not even realized that she was holding. 

“Well, I went with Eir and she poked and prodded me, and then I went to see my parents.” His hands roved from her scalp down her neck, over her shoulders, soothing away the tension as she spoke. She sank against the pillows in a boneless heap. 

“And then what?”

“After that I took a long, hot bath.” 

“And did you think of me then? Did you wish for me there in the hot water with you, for my hands sliding over your body, for my breath mingling with yours in the steam?”

“Yes, oh yes,” she sighed. She knew that he was trying to draw her thoughts out of darkness, and he was succeeding.

“What did you do after your bath?”  
“I ate, and Thor and the Warriors Three joined me.”

“And did you wish for me then, to throw myself bodily over you before Thor and Volstagg could crush your spine?”

She snickered, snuggling closer to him and his magnificently soothing touch. “No. I think you've suffered enough.”

“That is most kind.”

“A strange thing happened then, while I was eating. I had the most peculiar feeling. It was as if I felt a tap on my shoulder, but not just any tap. It felt as though you had touched me. I turned around, expecting to see you.”

“Ah! That was me, toying with the bond between us a little.”

“Really? Do you think I could do it, too?”

“I don't know. Can you feel the bond at all?”

Sif thought about that. She could feel...something. Some sort of connection between them that was hard to describe or quantify. “I think I can feel it.”

“Picture it, like a piece of string, connecting you to me.”

She closed her eyes, and pictured it in her head. “I see it. Now what?”

“Think of something that you want me to know. You needn't think of it in words, just ...feel whatever it is you want to to say. Then imagine yourself plucking the string.”

What did she want to say? She thought of how much she loved him, the sorrow she felt at the thought of loosing him, the joy that she felt when he was restored to her. She let the emotion fill her heart, and then she pictured herself plucking the string.

Loki gasped, and and went ramrod stiff for a moment. Sif sat up immediately, and to her horror she saw that his eyes had filled with tears.

“Did I hurt you?! Do you need a healer? Oh, I am so sorry, Loki!” She started to scramble out of the bed, but he caught her by the wrist.

“No! I am not hurt. It's just that you...come here. Lie back down, and I'll show you.”

She let him pull her back to his side, but she still eyed him warily. “Are you sure that you don't...”

Then it hit her. 

She felt her head snap back, and she gave a startled cry as her whole body stiffened. 

She was filled with love, with his love for her. It was if she had swallowed a star; she could almost see its light filling her, swimming beneath her skin and shining from her eyes.

At last the feeling faded, and she was left panting in Loki's arms.

“You see?” he said softly.

“Yes, I see.” She blinked, and felt moisture in her lashes.

He slid them both down the pillows, and pulled the blanket over her. “Go to sleep, Sif. You look as tired as I feel.”

“Don't tell me what to do,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “Will you dream with me?”

“Yes.” She felt his lips brush her temple. “And I will wake with you, too. Always.”

Always, Sif thought as she drifted off to sleep. Always was a good word.


	17. Epilogue: Sweet Thing

When Thor rounded the corner and saw his brother, he barreled toward him automatically, and only when he had been hugged to Thor's satisfaction was any conversation allowed.

“You know, Thor, I saw you just this morning,” Loki said, attempting to smooth the new wrinkles from his linen tunic. 

“Yes, but you were still confined to bed then! Now you have a clean bill of health!” A thought occurred to him, dimming his sunny mood slightly. “Unless you have escaped Eir's watch.”

“I did not escape,” Loki said in a slightly aggrieved tone. “I have been released by my jailer; you can ask her yourself if you don't believe me.”

“I believe you.” Thor gave him a genial thump on the back. “Where were you headed?”

“To see you, actually. I wondered if I might have a word with you.”

“Of course!” He grabbed Loki by the arm and began to haul him down the corridor in the direction of his rooms. After a moment he thought better of it, and paused.

Loki gave him a quizzical look, his head tilted to one side. “Why have we stopped?”

“I seem to remember that you don't care for me manhandling you.”

“And since when does that bother you?”

Since you nearly died, and I realized just how much I would hate a world without you in it, Thor wanted to say. Instead he shrugged.

“It just seems to me that I could do fewer things that irritate you, that's all.”

“You know, I have often complained to mother that you like to drag me around like a puppy. And do you know what she always says?”

Thor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That if I don't let you be she's going to make me sleep in the kennels with the other ill-mannered beasts?”

Loki grinned. “No, not in this particular case. What she tells me is that you do not do it to make me angry, but because you love me and want me to go everywhere you go. I never believed that, but it is starting to seem less implausible.”

Thor replied to that in the only manner he could, by pulling his brother the rest of the way down the hall and into his chambers.

Thor deposited him in a chair by the fire, and poured him a goblet of wine before dropping into the seat opposite him. “What did you want to talk about?”

Loki looked down into the ruby heart of the wine. “Sif, actually. Has she told you what happened to her under the mountain?”

“No. I take it she hasn't told you, either?”

“No. Nor has she told her mother, our mother, any of the Warriors Three, or anyone else I think it likely she would confide in.”

Thor shook his head. “I was hoping she had told you. What could possibly have happened to her that is so awful she can't bear to speak of it?”

“I don't know,” Loki replied softly. “But whatever it is, it eats at her. She's having nightmares every night.”

“Don't you walk in each other's dreams? Why can't you just look into her nightmares?”

“I've tried, but she locks me out of them somehow. I can't even tell how she is managing to do it.”

Thor took a healthy pull of his wine. “Sif is frightening enough as it is, don't tell me she's learning magic as well.”

“It would seem that she is picking up a little, here and there. I would stay on her good side, if I were you.” Loki took a sip of his own wine, and when he looked up from the goblet and met Thor's eyes, he frowned.

“You keep giving me the most peculiar looks, Thor.”

“Do I? I don't mean to. It's just that you...you're so...”

“So what?” Loki demanded with a scowl. “Do not tell me that I look ill. I feel perfectly fine, and if people do not stop fussing over me...”

“It's not that, you look remarkably well. You are different since you've been ill, that's all.”

“Really? I have heard that quite a bit lately. Nobody ever seems to be able to tell me exactly what has changed, though.”

“I think I know what it is,” Thor said quietly. “You're happy.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I don't know if you have ever noticed, but I have been happy in the past, from time to time. I am not always a seething cauldron of rage and pain.”

“Maybe 'happy' is not quite what I mean. Content might be more like it. Ever since you came of age, there has been something restless in you, something angry and sad. I tried to help you, but I don't think I ever did a very good job of it. Now, suddenly, it's gone, as if it had never been. What changed?”

Loki was quiet for a long time, and Thor recognized the look on his face. He was calculating, trying to decide what he wished to reveal. 

“I have always known,” he said at last, “That I am not like you, or Mother or Father. Or even Sif, for that matter. As soon as I was old enough to see that difference, I began to feel alone. I thought it was...unlikely that any of you should hold me as dear as you did each other. Or as dear as I held all of you.”

Thor opened his mouth to protest, but Loki held up a hand for silence. “I ask for your patience, brother. I think I only have it in me to say this once.”

“Sif was a little different,” he continued. “She sought me out when there was no blood to bind us, no reason for her to be obliged to act as though she cared for me. But even then, I always thought she would leave me someday, for one golden warrior or another.” He swallowed with obvious difficulty. “I thought I was a phase for her, and that it would end, in time. I thought that you would leave me behind eventually, too.”

Thor had been trying not to interrupt, but that was too much. “Loki, I would never...”

“I know, I know now. I think some part of me always knew, but I did not let myself listen to it. I became certain that there was no place for me here, no matter how much I wanted one. I thought in time I would have to leave, to make a place for myself in some other realm.”

“Then I nearly died, and I saw the truth. I saw that I would be missed, if I were gone. And I saw that Sif is mine every bit as much as I am hers. I see that even though I do not seem to be the same sort of creature that the rest of you are, you still love me. There is always a place for you, where you are loved.”

Loki finished the remainder of his wine in a single gulp. “And that,” he said, “is what has changed.”

Thor felt tears sting his eyes. He thought that he had probably shed more tears in the past ten days than he had in the previous ten years, but he did not mind this particular set.

“Now that you have gotten all of that through your thick skull, you must never, ever forget it. Promise me that you won't, Loki.”

“I won't, I promise you.” Loki rose and set his goblet aside. “Well, then!” he said briskly. “I hate to confess my innermost secrets and run, but I think I shall go and search out Sif, in the hopes that I can wheedle her tale out of her.”  
“I wish you the best of luck.”  
Loki stood there for a moment, an uncertain look on his face. Then, for the first time since they were children, he strode up to his brother, and threw his arms around him.

“You will not,” he murmured against the crook of Thor's neck, “Ever tell anyone that this occurred. It would grieve me to have to kill you.”

“Understood,” Thor said, petting his brother's back.

 

The Warriors Three had finally persuaded Sif to spend a few hours in the training yards with them. She enjoyed it, but by the time that she was finished, bathed and changed, she was looking forward to curling up beside Loki for an afternoon nap. Night after night of bad dreams were starting to take a toll on her.

The effort it took to keep Loki out of those dreams was also wearing on her. She she could not have told him how she was doing it, even if he had asked, but somehow she had built a wall between the nightmares and her more healthy dreaming. Loki could enter the latter, but not the former.

He did not speak of it, but she knew that he had tried again and again to enter her nightmares, and the fact that he could not troubled him. Someday she might allow him to see them if he truly wished to, but not now. He was still healing, and he deserved untroubled rest.

She was fantasizing about a long, lazy afternoon spent in his arms as she made her way to his rooms. When she found his bedroom empty and the bed made, disappointment and concern filled her in equal measure.

Her first stop after that was the Healing Halls, where Eir confirmed that she had allowed Loki to leave his bed. 

The healer must have seen the uncertainty written on her face. She set down her mortar and pestal, and laid a warm hand on Sif's shoulder.

“Loki is well enough to be up and about, I assure you. He is young an uncommonly strong, and he has sustained no lasting damage. In fact, he has recovered more quickly than I had hoped. Now you, on the other hand, look exhausted. Is there anything that I can do for you, Lady Sif?”

“No, I am quite alright, thank you.”

Eir sighed. “You know where to find me, if you change your mind.”

From there, Sif went to the library. She saw no sign of Loki there, so she pulled a volume from one of the shelves and settled down with it in his favorite spot, a battered little table in a deep nook, beneath a window. She had only read a few paragraphs when a familiar shadow fell across the page.

“I think that I have wandered this palace from rafters to basement in search of you,” Loki said. “I did not expect to find you here.”

“And why not? I do read, you know.”

“I know, but normally if you are here I find you in the fiction section. And more often than not, you are buried deep in either a lurid tale of gore or a treacly romance.”

Sif made a face. “We can't all be lovers of the dry and boring.”

“True. Not even I love it, all the time. On that note, I want to take a walk. Come with me.”

“Are you sure that is wise? I think you ought to take things slowly for a while.”

“I've been taking them slowly for days. I don't even think I remember what the outside world looks like.” He smiled down at her, his eyes warm as a summer sea. 

“Come out and play with me, Sif,” he said.

She could not resist that. She let him take her hand and pull her to her feet. Together they headed out to the garden.

There was still novelty in holding his hand in public, no longer hiding in the shadows or under the cover of an illusion. 

The few people that they passed smiled at them with genuine warmth, and several enquired kindly after Loki's health.

“It is not the way that you feared it would be, is it?” Sif asked when they were out of earshot of the last group of well-wishers.

“No, it is not. Perhaps it is because they find the tale romantic. A good tale covers a multitude of sins.”

“Perhaps,” Sif slipped her arm around his waist. “Or perhaps you are not nearly as reviled as you have always believed.”

“That could be,” Loki said quietly.

He led her through the garden, and down to the shore, to the little cove where they often liked to sit and watch the waves. Loki dropped to the sand and tugged her down beside him.

“This was where they launched your funeral barge, you know.”

Sif looked at him, feeling a twinge of morbid curiosity. “Really? What was it like?”

“Everyone in the palace attended, and Odin himself spoke your eulogy. To be honest, I did not pay a great deal of attention to what he said, or I would describe it for you.”

“Of course you didn't.” Almost at once she felt terrible for making him think of it.

“Don't fret,” he said as though reading her mind. “It does not trouble me to speak of it.”

“Thank you for making then obey my wishes, by the way.”

“You are most welcome. I am glad that you did not come home to find all of your belongings at the bottom of the sea.”

They were quiet for a long time then, watching the smooth green waves as they rolled onto the sand. Sif rested her head on his shoulder and let the whisper and crash of the surf lull her.

“You know why I lured you out here, don't you?” Loki said at last.

“To ravish me where all the fish can watch?” she replied hopefully.

She felt the rumble of his chuckle beneath her cheek. “No, but that is a fine idea for the future.” 

She knew quite well why he had drawn her here, to this spot that always brought her peace, but she wanted to stall just a while longer. 

“There is something I've been meaning to ask you. Do you still have Fenris?” 

He raised his right hand and twisted it in a fluid, sinuous gesture. He seemed to pluck the little wolf out of the air.

He handed Fenris to her, and she examined him. “He looks remarkably well for his age.”

“Of course he does. What use is all the magic in the world if you cannot use it to mend the ones you love?”

Sif hugged the toy to her chest, rubbing her cheek on the soft fur. “Not much, I suppose.”

“Of course, Fenris does not try to hide any of his hurts from me. And why should he? None of them are his fault, after all.”

“No, I suppose they aren't.” Sif whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her. “You saved my life, Sif. And more than that, you've made it worth living. Please tell me where you're hurt, so that I can try to help you.”

She felt her hands begin to shake. “I don't want to speak of it. I know it sounds foolish, but...if I don't talk about it out loud, it isn't real.”

“It is not foolish. Words have power. But it happened, whether you say it out loud or not. I can tell you from vast personal experience that not speaking of things does not make them go away. It just allows what was a clean wound to fester, and then the pain becomes worse than ever.”

She knew that he was right. And she knew that she could not hide the truth from him forever. Still, she wished that she could shield him from it.

“Loki, I...this will not be easy for you to hear, and not just for the reason you imagine.”

“You lived through it. The least that I can do is listen to the tale.”

Sif sighed, feeling unutterably weary. “Very well.”

She told him the whole story, starting from the moment that she felt the first hint of unease upon entering the cave. He listened without interruption, holding her close and stroking her hair. She read his emotions in the way that his body tensed, the hitches in his breathing, the quickening beat of his heart. She kept her eyes on the waves, letting them drink in the shimmer of sunlight on turquoise water as her mind filled with the darkness of Lilith's pit. Only when she came to the end of the tale did she raise her head.

Loki's face was streaked with tears.

“Oh, don't, please don't!” She reached up to brush the tears from his cheeks, feeling her own eyes begin to sting. “You've cried enough for me.”

He shook his head. “It was all my fault! If I had only killed her..”

“It is not your fault, none of it was. You did the best that you could. And I never could have killed her without the things that I've learned from you. Now I'm home, and you're well again, and Lilith can't harm us or anyone else.”

He framed her face with his hands. “My best was not good enough, my love, and I am more sorry that I can ever say. I cannot undo what has been done, and I cannot cleanse your memory of it, but I can give you this.”

His hands grew warm, then hot. The heat seemed to bleed from his skin into hers, filling her whole head with the familiar tingle of healing magic.

“There. Now at least your sleep will be peaceful. You will never have nightmares about it again.” He looked down at her, and smiled through the tears still gleaming in his eyes.

“I am so proud of you, Sif,” he whispered. 

She managed to smile in return. “I am proud of you, too. You held on, and you fought to come back to me.”

“I do not think our achievements are comparable, but thank you.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Now that I've been reminded of what outside looks like, would you care to accompany me back to my rooms?”

She looked at him sharply, suddenly concerned. Healing magic was not his specialty, and she wondered what it had cost him to work as much of it as he had. “Are you tired?”

“No, but you are. And I am guessing that you would like a little company while you rest.”

“Yes,” Sif said with a sigh. “Oh yes.”

He took her hand, and she thought that he meant to pull her to her feet, but then the world around her spun in a slightly sickening, familiar rush. When it stilled again, they were standing in his bedroom.

Still dazed from the sudden change of scene, Sif gave an uncharacteristically girlish shriek when Loki suddenly scooped her off her feet and into his arms.

“What was that for?!” she demanded.

“To show you that I have regained all of my strength. Besides, I thought that you women liked that sort of thing.”

“I never said I didn't like it,” she said with a grin.

She allowed him to carry her to the bed, to pull her boots off, and tuck her beneath the covers. It was only when she lay back against the pillows that she realized she was still holding Fenris.

She held him out to his owner. “Would you like him back?”

“You can hold onto him for a while more. He's quite a soothing little creature, I find.” Loki said as he slid beneath the covers and settled down beside her.

“Loki, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“This bond between us. Does it … trouble you?”

He gazed down at her, his cheek propped on his hand. “Trouble me? Why should it?”

“It's just that you've always been such an independent person. I can't imagine you wanting to belong to anyone that way.”

“As you have often pointed out, I am like a cat, and I do like to walk alone. But even cats choose people to belong to, do they not? I do not mind being bound to you, for I chose you.”

“You were little more than a babe when you chose me. How do you know you made the right choice?”

Loki shrugged. “I just know. The same way that you know I am for you. The same way that anyone knows they have found the right lover.”

Sif wrinkled her nose. “I have never liked that word. We aren't lovers.”

“Then what are we?”

“Friends.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Volstagg and I are friends, you know,” he said darkly. “I think we had better come up with a more specific term.”

She giggled. Loki was the only one who could ever make her giggle. “Special friends?”

“I still don't think that will do.” His breath was warm in her hair as he pulled her close. “What do you think about husband and wife?”

“Husband and wife,” Sif whispered, closing her eyes. “I like that.”

 

Frigga looked down at the cloth on her loom, a luminous smile on her face. 

Odin came to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “What do you see, my love?”

“I see a wedding,” she said. “I see our grandchildren. I see a heart so grounded in love that no truth, no matter how hard to bear, can ever shake it from its foundations.”

“I see love without end.”

“Funny, that is what I see, too,” Odin said as he bent to kiss her.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I would like to thank everyone that has left comments and kudos on this story. I am absolutely enchanted that you enjoyed it!
> 
> Second, I have a small note to make about the name of the last chapter. Most of my chapter names have not been very well thought out, but this one sortof was. It refers to the song of the same name, by Van Morrison. Here are the words, which are basically an epilogue to my epilogue. ;)
> 
> Sweet Thing
> 
> And I will stroll the merry way  
> And jump the hedges first.  
> And I will drink the clear  
> Clean water for to quench my thirst.  
> And I shall watch the ferry-boats,  
> And they'll get high  
> On a bluer ocean  
> Against tomorrow's sky.  
> And I will never grow so old again.  
> And I will walk and talk  
> In gardens all wet with rain.
> 
> Oh sweet thing, sweet thing,  
> My, my, my, my, my sweet thing.  
> And I shall drive my chariot  
> Down your streets and cry  
> Hey, it's me, I'm dynamite  
> And I don't know why.  
> And you shall take me strongly  
> In your arms again,  
> And I will not remember  
> That I even felt the pain.  
> We shall walk and talk  
> In gardens all misty and wet with rain  
> And I will never, never, never  
> Grow so old again.
> 
> Oh sweet thing, sweet thing  
> My, my, my, my, my sweet thing  
> And I will raise my hand up  
> Into the night time sky  
> And count the stars  
> That's shining in your eye.  
> Just to dig it all and not to wonder,  
> That's just fine  
> And I'll be satisfied  
> Not to read in between the lines.  
> And I will walk and talk  
> In gardens all wet with rain  
> And I will never, ever, ever, ever  
> Grow so old again.  
> Oh sweet thing, sweet thing...


End file.
